


Dawn of the Valkyrie

by QueenMilaAshdown



Series: Valkyrie Chronicles [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, BAMF Harry Potter, Canon Divergence - Thor: The Dark World, Canon-Typical Violence, Damned Potter Luck, Dudley defends Draco, Dudley has Magic, Dudley is overwhelmed, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Evelyn gets her husband and brother back, Evelyn is PISSED, Evelyn is beyond exasperated, Evelyn is just DONE, Evelyn meets Frigga, F/F, F/M, Fenrir is Loki's son, Fenrir is judgy, Frigga is having none Sirius' shit, Hela is Loki's Daughter, Horcruxes are bastardized Soul Magic, Loki gets his wife back, M/M, Master of Death Harry Potter, Multi, Odin's A+ Parenting, Potter stubbornness is annoying to other people, Sif is so confused, Sirius has serious 'foot in mouth' syndrome, Sirius is broken out of Azkaban, Sleipnir is Loki's son, Sleipnir is not, Soul Magic, Tags to be added, Thor gets his sister back, YES she's certain, YES there is a bloody Horcrux in the bank, and she's not quiet about it, and they suck big time, but not really, finally the reunion, he is not amused, raised from birth, roasting Odin, they're GODS Eve!, why does this always happen to her?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-01-16 04:08:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 51,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18513592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenMilaAshdown/pseuds/QueenMilaAshdown
Summary: “And you seek to prevent all of this from happening again?”“Yes,” she returns simply. “After dealing with a megalomaniac that’s hell bent on my blood, though.”He blinks repeatedly, wondering if he actually heard her correctly. “What?”***When they're the last two left with the Realms collapsing around them, Loki uses dangerous magic to send Evelyn back to the beginning to do it all over again.  The Soul Magic has unexpected side effects, though.  Evelyn blames it on her damned Potter Luck.  With far more allies than originally expected, she and Loki set out to stop the end of the Nine Realms before it even starts.





	1. On the Usage of Soul Magic

**Author's Note:**

> In honor of Avengers: Endgame coming out next week, I thought I'd finally get around to posting my Harry Potter/Avengers fanfic that's my version of the 'fix-it' fic! Please enjoy! Also, let's all not spoil Endgame for people who can't see it opening weekend! Everyone deserves the chance to enjoy the full effect without spoilers!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 4/27 Edit: Changed the last two Realms from Midgard and Helheim to Midgard and Niflheim

In a cupboard underneath a set of stairs in Little Whinging, Surrey, England, there lies a small ten-year-old girl fast asleep.  This little girl is no ordinary girl, however. Evelyn Rosalie Potter has no idea that as she sleeps, the balance of the world is hanging by a thread; waiting for a choice she’s about to make.

As it is, Evelyn knows she has to be dreaming when she finds herself inside a golden castle she’s never seen before.  Sticking her head out of a nearby window has her gawking at how many different towers are rising toward the sky. However, after getting over her shock, she realizes there isn’t a soul to be found.  Her little dream world seems entirely void of anyone else, which is odd. She thinks that, given the sheer size of the place, _someone_ should be around, but apparently not.  She wanders the halls, trying to make sense of what’s happening.  It’s not the weirdest dream she’s ever had, that still belongs to the flying motorcycle one, but she still has no idea where her mind got all this from.

It isn’t until she discovers the library that she finally finds someone.  A woman with braided red hair is lazily browsing through the books. For all the pomp and whatnot of this bizarre dream world, she’s dressed rather casually.  Pale blue denim trousers, what Evelyn thinks are black boots peeking out under from under the worn hems of said trousers, and a dark grey jacket over a possibly dark green shirt.  She can only catch a glimpse of a collar, so she’s not certain. The only thing on the woman that seems to fit in with the dream world are the gold metal braces on her wrists and ankles.  As she turns to face her, Evelyn inhales sharply at the sight of emerald green eyes— _her_ emerald green eyes—staring back at her.

“Hello Evelyn,” the woman says softly. “Won’t you take a seat?”

“Do I know you?” Evelyn asks warily.  Aunt Petunia doesn’t like her talking to strangers, after all.  And even if this is a dream, that doesn’t mean Aunt Petunia won’t somehow find out that she’s disobeyed and punish her regardless.  Aunt Petunia’s good at that. The punishing bit, at least.

“That is a very complicated question,” the woman sighs, absentmindedly blowing her bangs out of her face.  Evelyn vaguely remembers doing that too when Aunt Petunia had let her have long hair. Now, it has to stay short or she gets in trouble. “You don’t, not at the moment, but you could.  On the other hand, you already do.”

“That is complicated,” Evelyn agrees, her face scrunching up as she tries to make sense of the woman’s bizarre statement.  Adults tend to do that, she’s realized. They say weird things that make them think they sound so important. She really wishes they’d just come out and say whatever it is they want to say.  Makes things less complicated that way.

“You’ll understand soon enough if you want,” she chuckles. “I really would recommend taking a seat, though.  This might take a while, given that I only have an inkling of an idea about what I need to do to finish this.”

Evelyn blinks. “Finish what?” She drops down into a chair, tired of standing and taking the opportunity to sit when it’s not usually offered.

The woman raises an eyebrow, and Evelyn fights off the urge to shrink back. “Given what questions you _aren’t_ asking, I’m going to assume you’re ten?”

“What’s being ten got to do with anything?” Evelyn asks defensively, even though she’s already bracing herself for a scolding.  No matter how many time Aunt Petunia seems to scold her for talking back, she just can’t seem to help herself.

“When you turn eleven, your life changes,” the woman states matter-of-fact, settling herself in a chair as well.

“You can’t know that!” Evelyn protests, growing bolder with each time the woman doesn’t scold her for talking back.  It’s a dangerous habit to start, but she really doesn’t want to stop. And for some odd reason, she feels safe.

A wry smile tugs at the woman’s lips. “I’ve gone by many different names and titles during my life.  Those who remained of Asgard called me the Trickster’s Wife, seeing as I married the God of Mischief.  I was Hela’s Avatar here on Midgard, earning me the title Mistress of Death. To the wizarding world I was their Savior, their Chosen One, the Girl-Who-Lived and the Woman-Who-Conquered.  My friends and family, though, they knew me as Evelyn Rosalie Potter.”

“You’re _me_ ?” Evelyn squeaks.  Okay, _now_ she understands why she needed to sit down.

“I’m what you become if events unfold the way they’re currently set up to,” her future self says flatly, staring intently into the fire, “and the future, while there is much love and happiness, ends with me dying in my husband’s arms as the world falls to pieces around us.  Being the stubborn bastard that he is, he refused to accept that as our final end, so he gave me all of his power and strength and sent my soul back.”

“Why?”

Her own eyes pin her in place, a hardness in them that terrifies her.  Those eyes have _seen_ things. “So I could change what’s going to happen.  If this works, then things will be different this time.”

Change things?  What things could she possibly want to change?   _How_ could she—

“You didn’t try to save Mum and Dad,” she abruptly whispers, sitting ramrod straight.

“Evelyn—”

She cuts her future self off, too swamped with sudden, indignant anger to just let this go. “You didn’t try to save Mum and Dad!  Why, why, _why_ ?!  Anyone would’ve been better than the Dursleys!  Even bloody drunks! _They_ probably wouldn’t’ve made me sleep under the stairs!”

“Enough!” The thundered word finally shuts Evelyn up, and she cringes back into her seat as her future self stands and stalks forward towards the fire.  The woman’s hands are clenched into fists at her side, and, the longer Evelyn watches, the more she realizes the woman is shaking. “I’ve forgiven a lot of things that Aunt Petunia did, but _that_ is the one thing I never can and likely never will.” She turns, fixing Evelyn with a glare. “She lied to you, to us.  James and Lily Potter loved us with every fiber of their being, enough to die to keep us safe. That _bitch_ was just jealous because she couldn’t have what her sister had.”

Evelyn sniffles, scrubbing at the tears rolling stubbornly down her face. “Really?” She looks beseechingly at her future self, desperately hoping and praying that she isn’t lying.

“Really,” the woman murmurs, her expression softening as she returns to her seat, “and I’m sorry for raising my voice.  It’s just an excuse, but Mum and Dad are a bit of a tender subject for me.” She smiles weakly. “I think you understand at least a little.”

Evelyn shrugs half-heartedly, ducking her head to hide a bit. “Just a—” She swallows around a lump in her throat. “Just a bit.”

“I’ll try to not raise my voice again, but I promise you I won’t touch you unless I have your permission,” her future self states solemnly. “And there’s a reason I didn’t try and save Mum and Dad.  Your body couldn’t’ve handled the strain if I’d gone back any further. I was sent back with the power of a god in my veins on top of already being a rather powerful witch.”

“Magic isn’t real,” Evelyn parrots without conscious thought.  That particular fact has been pretty much beaten into her. Anything that Uncle Vernon’s dubbed ‘unnatural’ just isn’t mentioned and therefore isn’t real.

“Ah, what I wouldn’t give to _murder_ Uncle Vernon,” her future self snarls, almost as if she’d heard Evelyn’s thoughts.  Her teeth are bared, a look of pure loathing twisting her expression into something that, surprisingly, makes Evelyn feel safe.  She knows now, with every fiber of her being, that this woman would never hurt her in any way, shape, or form. “Just assume that most everything that the Dursleys have told you is a lie, and to never believe a word out of their mouths again, understand?”

“Sure…?” she returns, not sure what good that’ll do for long.  It’s not like she’ll have much a choice once she wakes up.

Her future self drags a hand down her face. “I’m sorry, but our relatives are horrid creatures that deserve to be put behind bars, at least.  They’ll find no rest in Death, of that I’m certain. Hela wasn’t overly thrilled when I mentioned what my childhood was like in passing once.”

“You can do that?” Evelyn asks incredulously, a bit baffled at the idea.

“Ah, no, _we_ can’t,” the woman stresses. “Well, we’ll be putting them behind bars, but it’ll be legal.  The few benefits of being famous.” Famous? She’s not famous. Famous people don’t live under staircases. “Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon will get to spend the rest of their miserable mortal lives behind bars.  After that they’re Hela’s problem, and seeing as we’re her avatar _and_ her father’s wife, well, they’ve no one to blame but themselves on that front.  Not to mention she actually _likes_ us.”

“Bloody hell, you’re talking about Hela of Asgard, aren’t you?” Evelyn yelps, it finally connecting who exactly her future self is talking about. “Goddess of Death?”

“I’d forgotten we’d poked at mythology,” the woman comments blandly. “Yes, although it’s Hela of Helheim, not Asgard.”

“ _Why_ are you talking about a Goddess of _Death_ liking us?” Evelyn demands near hysterically. “The gods aren’t even real!  They’re just stories!”

“They are very much real, although the vast majority of the stories about them aren’t true.” Her future self chuckles, a real smile spreading across her lips. “Had a few interesting conversations about those legends.”

“My head hurts,” Evelyn mutters, scrubbing a hand through her cropped black hair.  The mere idea of legends actually being real, on top of magic as well, is a bit too much to wrap her mind around.  Even with trusting everything her future self is telling her.

The woman snorts. “We tend to do that to everyone around us.  House Potter’s Luck is a bit of an arse.” Now she sighs, slumping in her seat, and Evelyn can actually see herself in the otherworldly woman finally.  Something beyond just shared looks for all that she has black hair and her future self red. She does wonder how that happened. “In any event, I’ve told you who I am and why I’m here, so I suppose we’re to the how.”

“The how?” Evelyn repeats, immediately confused. “The how of what?”

“Our current situation,” her future self says with a wry smile. “Right now, I’m just a manifestation.  I have no body. Your body is well and truly yours, Evelyn, and there’s nothing I can do to change that.  I’m simply what your soul _could_ become and because of that, we have the ability to merge ourselves.  In a sense, we’d be going from _you_ and _I_ to _us_ , but only if you wanted to.”

“So I can say no?” she asks.  For some reason, the thought is far more comforting that she’d expected it to be.  Not that she’s currently planning to say no, but just the ability to be able to is a comfort she rarely ever has, so she cherishes it.

“Yes, you’d be well within your rights to say no,” the woman murmurs, gazing into the flickering flames. “My memories…aren’t all pleasant, to put it politely.  There are moments I’m not proud of but will stand by my decisions because I believe they were right, even with the brutality that followed. However, there are memories that I…that I love with all my being.”

Evelyn swallows around a sudden lump in her throat as something occurs to her. “You…you said you were…um… _married_ to someone?”

A ridiculously dopey smile spreads across her future self’s lips. “Our husband, Loki of Asgard, loves us with his entire being.”

It takes all of Evelyn’s self control to keep her jaw from dropping at _that_ particular little tidbit.  Loki? She marries _Loki_?  Now that she thinks about it, her future self had dropped a few facts that had hinted at that without outright stating so.

“Of course, we were at odds with one another when we first met,” the woman continues regardless of Evelyn’s completely blown mind, lips curling up into a smirk the further into her memories of Loki she devils, “and there wasn’t a thing either of us could do about it.  After we stopped snipping at the other, we discovered we shared many things in common.” Her expression abruptly goes solemn. “Unfortunately, included was a rather similar childhood, in a manner of speaking. Both of us grew up constantly second best, for reasons we didn’t find out until later in life.  For us, it was our magic that made Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon act the way they did. For Loki?” Here her future self sighs. “Not only did he find out he was adopted, but he was a Frost Giant on top of that, the very being Asgardians went to war with centuries ago and their boogeymen in nighttime tales.  Merlin was that a storm to weather.”

“He loves us, though?” Evelyn whispers almost fearfully but ever hopeful.  If there’s just _one_ person who loves her, surely that’s not too bad of a trade off?

A softer, more content smile is offered to her this time. “When we married, he swore this oath to me.  ‘I take you, my heart, at the rising of the moon and the setting of the stars. To love and to honor through all that may come.  Through all our lives together, in all our lives, may we be reborn that we may meet and know and love again, and remember’.”

Evelyn sits in silence, letting it all sink in.  Mercifully, her future self doesn’t say anything more.  The more she thinks about it, the clearer it becomes. There never really is a way she’d say no.  Not with what’s been offered. The mere _possibility_ of having someone who loves her is just too much to pass up.  And even if nothing works out the way her future self seems to be hoping it will, she’ll still at least be getting a chance to try.  Furthermore, Evelyn Potter’s no coward, no matter what Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon or Dudley might think. They haven’t broken her yet, and from the looks of it, never will.

Steeling herself both mentally and physically, she meets her future self’s steady gaze with one of her own. “Do it.”

She’s gifted with a blinding smile, and only then does her future self reach out towards her.  The instant they clasp hands, something sparks under her skin as a flood of power slams into her.  Her magic flares out, wild and chaotic—familiar and warm—while memory after memory tumbles in front of her eyes, desperately seeking something familiar to cling to.  Far, far away it finds one such thing. The quickly disintegrating marriage link between her and Loki. She grabs what strength she can and hurls her consciousness down the link before darkness can take her.

 

* * *

 

“Do you dream of them often?”

Loki Odinson, second Prince of Asgard, nearly leaps out of his skin when an unknown woman’s voice suddenly addresses him in his dreams.  He turns away from where he’s sitting with a dream version of Sigyn and Hela in the palace gardens, as if his wife hadn’t died and his daughter not banished.  Neither reacts to the voice. Standing nearby, watching his family with a sadness that makes Loki feel uncomfortable, is a woman with blood red hair and striking emerald green eyes.

“Do I know you?” he inquires warily while getting to his feet.  Her clothing looks like nothing he’s ever seen before, but the bracers she wears on her wrists and ankles are alarmingly familiar.  As is the protective magic practically pouring off them.

“That remains to be seen,” she murmurs softly. “My name is Evelyn Rosalie Potter, Loki Odinson, and I am here to ask for your help.” She regards him with a solemn gaze. “What do you know of Soul Magic?”

He immediately stiffens and his expression grows stone cold. “I will perform no Soul Magic for you, woman.  Nothing good ever comes of it. There’s always a consequence you aren’t expecting or prepared to pay.”

She merely scoffs and rolls her eyes. “I know that, you prat, and I’m not asking you to.  Once is enough, thank you.” She shudders, grimacing as though in pain. “I can attest to the fact that Soul Magic hurts like a right bitch, and I thought the death spell was painful.” She mutters the last part so quietly that he almost missed it.

He narrows his eyes, even more on guard than before.  Who exactly is this woman who casually mentions death spells and Soul Magic, two Arts even he’s wary about deviling into? “What death spell?”

She shrugs carelessly. “The one that had been slowly eating away at my magic and body for the past week or so on top of me already dealing with a shattered right leg, a broken left wrist, multiple slash wounds to my chest and arms, possible broken or bruised ribs, and a concussion to finish it off.” Loki inhales sharply, the fractional widening of his eyes the only other form of his surprise he allows himself to show. “The Convergence happened and, because the alignment of the Realms was thrown out of balance, the worlds descended into chaos.  That was merely the end result for myself.”

“The Convergence is not to happen for another twenty years yet,” he shakily corrects her.

“Hence the Soul Magic,” she smiles tiredly. “We were the last two alive after seven years of trying and failing to fix things, and I was dying in your arms.  You refused to lose me, much like you had Sigyn, and so we thought to try and do it all over again.” She drags a hand down her face, her entire form seeming to curl inward as she drops down to sit in the grass. “I am Hela’s Avatar on Misgard, or as the Wizarding World calls it, the Master of Death.  The Deathly Hallows answer to me. To top it all off, I am the Heir to House Gryffindor and House Slytherin.”

“Why seek me out?” he demands, refusing to kneel in turn.  Refusing to acknowledge the churning in his gut that echoes the raw, protective savagery in the magic at her wrists and ankles.  He hasn’t heard the names Gryffindor or Slytherin in centuries, and now this woman claims to be the heir of both Godric and Salazar.  And on top of all that, she’s Hela’s Avatar, meaning she’s collected all of Hela’s artifacts on Midgard and won their alliance. She’s someone his daughter’s acknowledged and probably holds in high esteem.

“Since you’re the one who cast the Soul Magic on me, there's a chance you may be able to regain your memories of the years that’ll no longer be happening.  However, like I told my former current self, there are both good and bad memories. Personally, I like to think that the good outweighs the bad, but that’s just my opinion.  They will greatly change how you view everyone and everything you currently know, and there’ll be no going back should it actually work.”

“Then why offer it?”

“You aren’t the only one who’s possessive of those they consider theirs, Odinson,” she smirks slightly, a bit of fire returning to her eyes. “Thor often commented that we brought out both the best and worst in each other.  Still, even if you choose not to regain the memories, I have every intention of winning you over again.”

Loki looks at her silently, already gathering an idea of how they fit together.  It alarms him how much he finds himself wanting it, what with his wife and child still right behind him.  How well their magic seems to meld together, even after having just brushed his own up against hers.

“And what, exactly, do you gain by offering me this?”

She absentmindedly blows a loose strand of hair out of her face. “If you say yes, and it actually works, I have someone else who _knows_.” She looks up at him, solemn to a degree that sets his teeth on edge. “I have lived through the collapse of seven of the Nine Realms.” He just barely manages to catch the strangled noise that wants to escape his throat.  Stars, she can’t be serious. He doesn’t even want to begin to consider what sort of catastrophe would be capable of causing that kind of chain reaction. “Asgard fell four months ago for me, taking Odin and most of the Valkyrie with it.  Midgard and Niflheim were the only two remaining when we resorted to Soul Magic.”

 _Well_ , he thinks faintly.  That certainly explains why he used it, even disregarding their supposed relationship. “And Mother?” he asks around the lump in his throat.

“She was killed during the Convergence seven years ago.”

Nothing could’ve prepared him for those words.  He stumbles back a step, chest heaving as he fights for air.  Frigga had been _killed_.  His kind, loving mother dead for seven years.

“Loki!”

The only one who never sees him as second best, who never scoffs or sneers over the fact that he’ll never be the type of warrior that Thor, Fandral, Volstagg, Hogun, or even Sif are.

“ _Loki!_ ”

The who encouraged his learning of magic and sciences.  Who practically taught him everything he knows about working in the shadows.

“Odinson, _breathe!_ ”

He reacts automatically, the tone sounding very much used to being obeyed and he’s currently in no state of mind to even contemplate disobeying.  Sweet air floods his lungs, for all that this is a dream, and his world stops physically spinning. Evelyn is on her feet, a hand reached out like she wants to touch him but she stopped herself just short of doing so.

“ _Who?_ ” he snarls, heart beating out a frantic tempo against his ribs.

“The Dark Elves led by Malekith,” she states flatly. “A mortal somehow managed to get the Aether trapped inside their body and Malekith took advantage of the fact that they were brought to Asgard in an attempt to retrieve it.”

That can’t be right.  Loki distinctively remembers Odin telling him and Thor how his father, Bors, had practically destroyed Svartalfheim and the Realm’s inhabitants with it.

“The Dark Elves—”

Evelyn cuts him off before he can finish his sentence. “They are very much alive, Odinson, so do not attempt to tell me my information is incorrect.  Malekith is so intune with the Aether that he was woken up from wherever he’s hibernating just by a mortal’s touch. He then proceeded to try and suck out of the light from all the Realms after taking the Aether into his body.  We're fairly certain that’s where everything started going wrong.”

Now it’s his turn to drop to the ground.  So that’s what caused it all. The use of one of the Infinity Stones.  Given that it was the Reality Stone, it most certainly would’ve been capable of tearing the Realms apart.

“Thor?” he makes himself ask while already dreading the answer.

“Fell with Vanaheim making sure as many as possible to get to safety three years ago,” she murmurs, kneeling opposite him and looking off into the distance.  A single tear rolls down her cheek. “You never admitted it to me, but I know you’d taken a piece of Mjolnir when it broke a year prior.” He’s unable to help his broken sob. “It became your sole remaining connection to your brother.”

He chokes out a “How?”

She answers him without needing any further explanation. “The mortal who found the Aether?  Thor had fallen in love with her, despite Odin’s disapproval and discouragement. What we didn’t know was that the Aether had damaged her body beyond anything either of us could heal, and Asgard was no help.  They closed their doors to us for the majority of the collapse. She died in his arms about a year after coming to us. He had lost his mother, was estranged from his father and friends, and only had you as a remaining connection to everything he formerly knew.  Jane Foster was the one who started him on the road to true humility, and to lose her as well?” She shrugs helplessly. “We were extremely lucky that Mjolnir took the brunt of the shitstorm that followed.”

Silence falls against between them as Loki tries to take in all of what she’s told him.  There are probably countless more horrors she’s not telling him. There’s a haunted look in her eyes that he doesn’t want to press any further than he already has.  It might hurt him to go further, but he gets this feeling that it’ll break her.

“And you seek to prevent all of this from happening again?”

“Yes,” she returns simply. “After dealing with a megalomaniac that’s hell bent on my blood, though.”

He blinks repeatedly, wondering if he actually heard her correctly. “ _What?_ ”

She smiles sadly at him. “I’d explain, but I’m at my limit.” Now that he actually looks at her, Loki realizes that she’s starting to faintly glow. “So what say you, Loki Odinson?  Do you wish to try your luck with Soul Magic or not?” She holds out a hand.

He looks at it, then at her again. “Do not expect me to simply sit around and wait for you to fix your problems,” he warns while reaching out. “I _will_ find you myself if you take too long.”

He’s rewarded with a surprised look just before their skin touches.  Then his world erupts in pain and devastation and heartbreak thirty years in the making.  He lurches forward a step and Evelyn catches him, her magic wrapping comfortingly around his own.

“I’ll be quick about it,” she murmurs into his ear.

“Evelyn—”

She cuts him off with a kiss, and he’s helpless to refuse it.  He sinks into it, so achingly familiar and wonderfully new. It’s sloppy and desperate and biting.  They’re _alive_.  They’ve got a second chance.  He hauls his wife tighter to himself, relishing in the feel of her beating heart against his chest.

“I love you, Odinson,” she breathes against his lips, the taste of stardust and frost heavy on his lips, “now _wake up_.”


	2. The course of Potter Luck never did run smoothly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What did you do?” Dudley hisses at the same time his mother shrieks the question again.
> 
> “Oh will you shut up?” Evelyn gripes, shooting a heated glare at Petunia. “It’s not like you’ll believe anything I say, not to mention you don’t want any talk of freakishness, so why the hell should I answer you?”
> 
> She is viscously pleased when Petunia is so surprised that she just shuts her mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgot to mention it in the last chapter, but I'll also be posting this story on fanfiction.net under the same penname! Enjoy chapter 2!
> 
> 4/27 Edit: Changed the last two Realms from Midgard and Helheim to Midgard and Niflheim

Loki wakes to the feeling of Evelyn’s kiss still lingering on his lips.  He gasps out a ragged sob, heart pounding from the abrupt wake up call. He can still feel his wife’s magic coursing through him, though it’s fading quickly.  His cheeks are wet and his throat tight.

Then wild and raw and chaotic magic brushes up against his own, startling him upright.  That’s Soul Magic running amok. He doesn’t even know how it’s possible, but that’s what’s happening.  He’s barely managed to throw his sheets back before the wing of the palace his rooms are located in explodes.  Lightning flashes across the now visible night sky, thunder cracking loudly in its wake.

“Thor!” he roars unconsciously, so used to scolding his brother for his flamboyant ways that even three years after his death he still reacts to lightning and the thunder that follows like that.  His magic surges to life, honed by too many years of constantly being on edge. Battle shields fall into place as easily as breathing.

Then he blinks and remembers.

His battle brother is dead.  The warrior he fought side by side with for three years as an equal is nothing more than a memory now.  Thor hasn’t been broken down and humbled yet. He still struts around like he hung the stars himself.

Loki presses a hand to trembling lips, allowing himself just a moment of grief to mourn what once was.  Of what he desperately wishes he could’ve held onto for longer. Then he inhales and exhales, collapses his shields, and shoves the feeling down into the depths of his soul.  He doesn’t have time to dwell on it for too long, lest it never let him go. He has a wife to locate and save. At least, after figuring out why Thor blew up their wing of the palace.  He doesn’t ever remember him doing that after Odin gave him Mjolnir. If it’s just Thor being an idiot, he’ll slip away with Asgard none the wiser. He knows he’s not ready to stay and face anyone here.  Not by himself, not without Evelyn beside him to temper his rage and pain. Of course, she might just do all the yelling herself. She always did have a few choice words to use whenever the topic of Odin came up.  He huffs out a laugh at the thought.

It’s a simple matter to change his night attire for something more suitable to rummaging through the rubble his brother’s produced for who knows why.  Sparks still dance through the air, and the smell of ozone and smoking pine increases the closer Loki gets to the center of the explosion. With a hiss, he draws his hand back from a slab of metal that shocks him unexpectedly.

“Was all this truly necessary?” he mutters to himself while shaking out the numbness in his hand.  That shock had certainly been stronger than anything his brother could produce before it all started.  He stumbles down a particularly steep set of rubble, only to abruptly find himself face to face with a rather pissed off Thor.

“What did you do?” his brother demands, lightning arching up and down his arms.  It’s very reminiscent of when he’d lost Mjolnir and had to master his abilities without it.  Loki’s so thrown by the sight that he doesn’t even react when Thor reaches out to grab ahold of him. “Loki, what trickery is this?   _How am I alive?_ ”

A sound of surprise tears it’s way out of Loki’s throat. “You—” He’s so unprepared for that question his voice hitches uncomfortably. “Thor?”

“Do not play your games with me, brother,” Thor snarls, pressing closer. “ _What did_ —”

“Thor!”

Loki doesn’t even realize he’s reacting to the unexpected voice until the screaming hum of his battle shields penetrates the ringing in his ears.  Until he raises his hands, glowing a sickly green, only to find himself face to face with someone he hasn’t seen or heard or touched or allowed himself to dwell on in seven years.  His magic peters out, unable to sustain itself in the wake of his shock.

“Mother?” Thor’s voice is as shaky as Loki’s limbs feel.  It’s only because the oaf hasn’t actually let go of him that Loki hasn’t fallen to his knees yet.  Unconsciously he reaches up to latch onto his brother’s wrist, needing something to ground himself with.  Because of that, he feels Thor shudder. “Loki?”

He squeezes his eyes shut, unable to think coherently while looking at Frigga, and he needs to make sure he’s not imagining certain things before trying to deal with her. “What does the name Jane Foster mean to you?”

Thor’s grip on him tightens minutely. “She was—” His brother lets out a harsh breath and Loki feels painful hope blossom in his chest. “She showed me what it truly meant to protect someone.”

Tears gather and Loki futilely tries to blink them away.  It shouldn’t even be possible. “You’ve been dead three years to me, brother,” he whispers hoarsely. “Midgard and Niflheim were all that were left.” He meets Thor’s horror filled gaze with his own broken one. “Evelyn and I, we were the last two.  She had been hit with a death spell a week prior when Wakanda fell.”

“No,” Thor breathes out, his free hand coming up to grip Loki’s shoulder.

Loki swallows around the painful lump in his throat. “I used Soul Magic.”

“Loki!”

He flinches at Frigga’s outburst. “Do not!” he snarls, holding up a hand to warn her from approaching.  That’s the last thing he needs right now. If she gets close enough to touch, he knows his control will snap, and he’s only barely hanging on by a thread as it is.  He turns his broken gaze towards her, his teeth bared in a mockery of a sneer. She’s taken only a few steps towards him, towards _them_.  When their eyes meet, she recoils slightly.  He both relishes and despises her doing so. It’s what he wants, he tells himself.  For her to realize he’s not the son she raised anymore. He’s not even _her_ son, he thinks painfully.  That honor belongs solely to the oaf he still calls brother.  His eyes dart momentarily to the smoking doorway where Odin stands looking on expressionlessly.  The sight raises his hackles even more.

“Brother,” Thor murmurs, squeezing his shoulder in both warning and support.

“I can’t—” Loki gasps out a sob while taking a step back. “I have to—”

“You will be going nowhere, Father.”

Loki whirls around so fast he nearly falls over in his haste.  Sitting atop the rubble he’d stumbled down just minutes earlier is his precious daughter, Hela.  She’s just as he remembers. Half living, half skeletal. Her living half is still a perfect mix of him and Sigyn.  His laughing green eye and Sigyn’s harvest wheat golden hair that fades to a ghostly white on her opposite side. Her skeletal half, he knows now, is like a mockery of his Jotun heritage.  A burning red eye regards him solemnly, pale blue skin pulled taunt haphazardly across exposed bone.

“Hela?” He hasn’t seen her since she dropped Evelyn into his cell all those years ago after the attack on New York. “What are—”

“Stopping you from making a mistake,” she returns blandly. “You need to stay on Asgard for now.”

He falters slightly, her instructions unexpected. “What?”

“You need to stay here, Father.  There’s nothing you can do on Midgard for my Avatar at the moment.  She has tasks to complete on her own before you two are reunited,” Hela explains, lazily picking at the underside of her fingernails on her living hand with a dagger held between bony fingers. “Once she’s concluded with them, she will make her way to Asgard with all due haste.”

He inhales sharply, realizing what she’s asking him to do and to _not_ do. “You cannot expect me to just stay away from her!”

“You can and you will,” Hela counters, fixing him with a glare and pointing her dagger at him. “Your presence would be more of a hindrance than a help.  She is capable of taking care of herself. You _did_ teach her yourself, after all.”

“There is a murderer out for her blood!”

His daughter immediately waves away his argument. “Tom Marvolo Riddle is nothing more that a wraith at the moment, bound to his host body.  As she is now, my Avatar would have little hardship sending their souls to me.”

A growl builds up in his chest and he does nothing to try and stop it. “And is that what she must do before you allow us to see each other again?”

“No,” she retorts flatly. “Goddess of Death I might be, I am not cruel.  For all her courage, that is not something I will make her face alone.”

“The man who murdered her parents, he’s alive again?” Thor abruptly demands, stepping forward so he’s shoulder to shoulder with Loki. “I thought she’d sent all the pieces of his soul to your Realm, niece.”

Hela dips her head in acknowledgement. “She had, and she will again with better help this time.  However, Father in his desperation sent my Avatar’s soul back thirty years. Tom Marvolo Riddle has not yet risen to power again.  She herself is just shy of her eleventh year.”

Loki chokes on air, not having realized that that might’ve happened.  He’d been so desperate to give them some form of second chance that he hadn’t even bothered to consider that Evelyn didn’t have his numerous years at her back. “I could’ve killed her,” he whimpers, slumping against Thor.

“No, Father, that I can assure you never was a possibility,” Hela soothes. “The soul you sent back had mastered the Deathly Hallows, so I was able to stop before it when too far.”

“And you couldn’t have stopped it sooner?” Thor asks, a protective arm curling around Loki’s shoulders.  He doesn’t have the heart to shrug it off.

Hela smiles wryly. “As I said, Father was desperate.  He powered the spell with his very soul having nothing left to lose.  It was simply because she was already my Avatar that I was able to halt her soul at all.  Death might be beyond time, but there are still limitations on what I am able to do.”

“Hence why you now have us.”

Out of the shadows steps a woman.  She wears black leather with silver armor and a winged helmet that’s strangely reminiscent of the ones the Valkyrie wear.  Golden eyes gleam brightly in the nighttime gloom. However, it’s the midnight feathered wings that hold Loki’s attention the longest.  All those of the Valkyrie have white feathers. There’s never been another color.

“You’ve finished, then?” Hela inquires.

A self-satisfied smirk graces the unknown woman’s lips. “I put the fear of death into their dull minds.  They’ll not touch her should she ever desire to return.”

Hela’s returning grin is more of a dangerous baring of teeth, much like Loki had done earlier.  Only hers isn’t broken. It’s full of righteous fury and a familiar maniac glee that earned Loki the title of God of Mischief centuries prior. “Well done.”

The woman bows to Hela, offering her a pulsing blood red stone. “The first piece, milady.”

Hela delicately takes it out of the woman’s hand.  Loki can’t help the shiver that slides down his spine when an agonized scream echoes from it. “Very well done indeed.” She gets to her feet and daintily makes her way down the rubble. “Unfortunately, this is where I must leave you.  Uncle, please look after Father for me until my Avatar arrives.” She stretches up onto the tips of her toes to kiss Thor’s cheek.

Thor in turn wraps her up in a crushing hug. “I would do so even without being asked.”

Hela draws back to gift him with a dazzling smile. “I do so like what your Jane Foster wrought.  You will be a better king because of her.”

Thor smiles back sadly. “I hope to be.”

“You will be.” His daughter nods decisively before turning to him.  She doesn’t even bother waiting for permission, simply throwing her arms around him. “Father, be strong,” she whispers into his ear. “She is coming.” He just holds her tightly, unwilling to say anything himself lest it come out horribly emotional.  He presses a desperate kiss into her hair before letting her go. She continues on past him towards where Frigga and Odin still wait. He’s a little surprised they didn’t try to say anything while Hela was talking. A wounded noise escapes him when Hela calls Frigga, “Grandmother.”

“Brother,” Thor murmurs, taking a step towards him only to stop when Loki flinches.

“I am the reason she was _killed_ ,” he hisses out through clenched teeth.  It’s one of the few things Evelyn’s never been able to convince him otherwise on.  He knows with utter certainty that, because he _told_ that wretched Dark Elf how to get out of the dungeons and to Jane Foster, Frigga died.  There will never be any way for Evelyn to change his mind. He is the reason the woman who raised him and loved him in spite of himself was killed, and he will carry that knowledge with him until he dies.

“And yet here we are, all alive again,” Thor counters. “Is that not enough for now?”

He laughs brokenly, thoroughly amused at how stupidly naive Thor still can be even after all that’s happened. “I am still the monster parents tell their children about at night.”

“No, you are my son.” The fierceness in Frigga’s voice causes Loki to freeze in place, allowing her to wrap him up in a hug. “Whatever you have done, you always have been and always will be my son.”

And Loki breaks.  Great, heaving sobs tear their way out of his throat as he collapses, dragging Frigga down with him.  She just holds him through all of it, rocking the two of them back and forth. He clings blindly to her, pressing his face into her shoulder while desperately melding their magic together so he can feel the steady tempo of her heartbeat through it.  She allows it, crooning softly like she used to whenever he or Thor were upset as a child.

Only once he’s calmed somewhat does she speak again.

“You have a story to tell, but it can wait until morning,” she says, smoothing a hand over his hair. “For now, you and Thor will join Odin and I to sleep.  When morning dawns, then you will tell me what drove you to use Soul Magic and what you meant by Midgard and Niflheim being the last two Realms left.”

And Loki, so utterly exhausted, doesn’t protest.

 

* * *

****

Evelyn wakes to the sound of screaming.

High-pitched, irritating screaming that echoes around in her head and makes her want to drop a building on whoever’s making the noise, if only to shut them up.  Then she remembers her dream and abruptly sits up, only to gawk at the scene in front of her. She’s back in the cupboard under the stairs. That much she’d expected.  However, the sight of most of the stairs blown to smithereens above her, not so much.

“What did you _do?!_ ”

Ah, the lovely tones of Aunt Petunia shrieking her head off about something.  Probably the destroyed staircase, now that Evelyn thinks about it. She does wonder how exactly that happened, because she can’t remember ever doing that before.

“Answer me!”

Tipping her head back, Evelyn looks up to see her aunt hanging over what’s left of the banister, red in the face, and pointing an accusing finger at _her_.  Uncle Vernon looks like he’s gearing up to give her a sound thrashing, if only he can find his voice.  He’s turning that lovely shade of purple that only Evelyn is capable of bringing out in him.

Dudley, however.

Dudley is looking at her with wide, far too knowing eyes for a ten-year-old boy.

“Eve?” he whispers hesitantly in the din his mother’s producing.  No ‘Evie’. No mocking tone. No terror over the fact that she somehow managed to blow up the stairs.  No, he’s reacting like her Dudley from after the war, once they’d reconnected and he stopped communicating with his parents.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she retorts flatly, twisting so she can stop craning her neck.  Of course she managed to screw something up. Damn Potter Luck. She only hopes that nothing goes too terribly wrong on Loki’s end.  He creates enough chaos all on his own, he doesn’t need her bizarre luck to help him at all.

“What did you _do?_ ” Dudley hisses at the same time his mother shrieks the question again.

“Oh will you shut up?” Evelyn gripes, shooting a heated glare at Petunia. “It’s not like you’ll believe anything I say, not to mention you don’t want any talk of _freakishness,_  so why the hell should I answer you?”

She is viscously pleased when Petunia is so surprised that she just shuts her mouth.  Unfortunately, this makes Vernon find his voice.

“Girl!  You will not—!” Vernon sputters, unable to finish his sentence.

“I won’t what?  Talk back?” Evelyn taunts, a smirk reminiscent of her husband gracing her lips. “I’d really like to see you try and stop me.”

“ _Eve!_ ” Dudley protests, only to yelp when his mother looks at him in shocked horror.

“Diddykins?”

Evelyn’s unable to stop her gagging noise at the nickname, not having heard it for over twenty years. “Merlin and Morgana, I’d forgotten about those,” she mutters, shuddering slightly.

“Don’t you go mentioning that freakish nonsense in this house!” Vernon roars. “When I get down there I’ll—!”

“You will do nothing, Vernon Dursley,” a new, female voice interrupts.

Evelyn whips around so fast she nearly falls off the cot she’s still sitting on.  Wood chips go flying in her wake, and she sneezes from the amount of dust she stirs up.

Standing at where the base of the stairs used to be is a woman.  She’s dressed in silver Asgardian armor over black leathers, a winged helmet sitting atop raven black braided hair.  It’s probably either her glowing golden eyes or the black feathered wings that have Petunia screaming this time.

“You’re from Asgard,” she says rather dumbly, not having expected anyone this quickly.  Even with how clever Loki is, even he couldn’t’ve managed this in so little time. Of course, that’s also her assuming they remembered at the same time.  There’s no telling how screwy things get when Potter Luck comes into play.

“Helheim, actually,” the woman corrects her. “Lady Hela sends her greetings.”

Evelyn frowns. “Did she also offer an apology for dumping me into an Asgardian prison cell for a year and a half?”

“No, you’ll have to take that up with her when you see her next.”

“I don’t exactly plan on dying anytime soon, thanks,” she throws back indignantly.

The woman cocks her head to the side, and the sight strangely reminds Evelyn of her husband. “Are you not Lady Hela’s Avatar?  Did you not unite the Hallows under your command?”

Evelyn squints suspiciously, wondering how the woman knows that. “I haven’t yet, given that I’m only ten years old at the moment.  That doesn’t happen until I’m nearly eighteen. And what, exactly, does that have to do with me not dying but still able to see Hela again?”

“Your body might be young again, but your soul remembers.” A pulse of magic ripples through the air, tingling under Evelyn’s skin. “Death is beyond time.  As far as the magicks surrounding the artifacts are concerned, you’ve already mastered them and thus they answer to you. With them, you are able to summon Lady Hela and she is able to summon you.”

Well, that explains how she got pulled out of Potter Manor without any of the magical defenses trying to blow Hela to kingdom come.  That would’ve been nicer to know _before_ it happened.  Still, what’s done is done, and she won’t get anywhere griping about it, so she shelves her irritation until she sees Hela again.

“Right, fine, whatever.” Evelyn scrubs a hand over her face only to sneeze again because her hand’s still covered in dust. “If Asgard didn’t send you, what are you even doing here?” Golden eyes flicker towards where the Dursleys are still stuck upstairs.  Evelyn realizes they’ve been suspiciously quiet. She turns to see Petunia frozen mid scream and Vernon stuck with his mouth twisted into a rather impressive snarl. “You did something,” she states, glancing back at the woman.

A self-satisfied smirk graces the woman’s lips. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

“The fact that they’re frozen by some magical means, and the Ministry isn’t breathing down our necks,” Evelyn points out dryly.

The woman chuckles softly. “The benefits of being taught magic by some of the greatest of the Nine Realms.  Shielding the house from your Ministry’s detection for a brief period of time is a simple matter.”

“Handy, that.”

“Indeed.  Now, I am here for two reasons.  Firstly.” Evelyn tries not to gawk, but the sight of the woman walking up air like the stairs are still there is kind of cool looking. “Vernon Gerard Dursley, Petunia Harriet Dursley nee Evans.” Now Evelyn shivers, the woman’s voice echoing and stirring up dust with the amount of power she suddenly brings down onto her Aunt and Uncle. “This will be your only warning.  You will not threaten Evelyn Rosalie Potter. You will not touch Evelyn Rosalie Potter. Should you disobey, your deaths will be swift and unforgiving. Evelyn Rosalie Potter is the beloved of milady Hela’s father. Believe me when I say that we _will_ know if you disobey.”

“You really didn’t have to do that,” Evelyn protests faintly. “I wasn’t planning on sticking around long anyways.” If she can just get to Diagon Alley, she has the money in her trust vault to last her until she heads to Asgard.

“Perhaps,” the woman murmurs. “However, I have waited a _very_ long time to be able to say that.” Her wings flare, magic crackling in the air as she bares her teeth in a sneer that would make both Loki and Snape proud. “Do not test me, mortals, unless you wish to experience death as the worst of your kind do.” Threatening apparently done, she drops gracefully to the ground in front of Evelyn. “Unfortunately, this next bit will not be pleasant for you.”

“And what, exactly, do you plan on doing to me?” Evelyn asks warily.

The woman reaches out to rest a finger over where her lightning bolt scar lies. “That bit of soul stuck in your forehead.  Lady Hela does not wish for it to trouble you this time as it did your last.”

Evelyn abruptly feels sick at the reminder of the Horcrux she carried around for nearly seventeen years. “It’s _back?_ ” she demands, not having considered that this might happen.

“It is, hence why Lady Hela sent me to rid you of it.  As I said, though, it will not be pleasant.”

Her magic swelling in response to her panic, Evelyn cries, “I don’t fucking care!  Just get it out of me!” She doesn’t want to spend one more minute with it inside her than she has to.  Pain is something she’ll deal with if it means the Horcrux will be gone.

With a wave of her hand, the woman clears her former cupboard of all its lingering dust. “Lie down,” she instructs. “You will be weak for a while after this.  Do not attempt any magic until you have sufficiently recovered.”

“Eve, what’s she talking about?” Dudley suddenly speaks up, not having said anything but also apparently not having been frozen like Evelyn originally thought.

“There is a piece of the soul of the murderer Tom Marvolo Riddle lodged in Evelyn’s forehead,” the woman answers. “I will be removing it so it will no longer taint her own soul and magic, but your cousin will be very weak afterwards.  She will require rest.”

“Good luck with that,” Evelyn mutters under her breath.  The woman glances knowing at her out of the corner of her eye, but doesn’t comment.

“Can I—?” Dudley stops short, worrying his lower lip between his teeth as he looks at his still frozen parents.  Evelyn holds her breath, wondering what exactly is running through her cousin’s mind. “She won’t get any rest here,” he finally says. “Could you take her somewhere safe to rest instead?”

The woman shakes her head. “Nowhere that I am able to take her would be safe to leave her by herself as she recovers.”

Dudley sends another searching look in his parents’ direction before squaring his shoulders. “And if you took me as well?”

“Dudley,” Evelyn breathes, surprised that he offered at all.  They did make up, but offering to go with her? She can’t imagine Petunia or Vernon would forgive something like that.  Of course, they might just say she bewitched him with her freakishness. Their leaps of logic never are the brightest.

“You would likely not be able to return,” the woman points out blandly, somehow thinking the same thing.

“I can’t just—” Dudley’s face twists up as he tries to articulate his reason. “I can’t just stay here, knowing Eve’s in danger.  I was a right prat while we grew up, and I’m not going to be the same fucking arse this go round. If that means leaving, then I’ll leave.  I’ve got the rest of summer break to figure something out if it all goes to shit.”

“You do House Evans proud, Dudley Vernon Dursley.” With a beat of her wings, the woman rises up to the second floor and holds out a hand. “Now, come.  There is little time left for me to extract the soul piece, and we will be leaving immediately afterwards.” With only minor hesitation, Dudley takes her hand.  Asgardian strength comes into play as she easily holds him while dropping soundlessly back down. She sets him down beside Evelyn’s cot, and the two immediately take each other’s offered hands.

“You don’t have to do this,” Evelyn whispers fiercely for all that she’s holding tightly to him.

Dudley scoffs. “And stay here?  You know I cut all contact with them for a reason, Eve.  I’m not going to suffer through another seven years of that utter nonsense, not if I can help it.”

“Then I’ll take you under my protection,” Evelyn insists. “I’ll be Lady Potter soon.”

“Those are things to discuss later,” the woman interrupts them. “Evelyn, lie down.” This time, Evelyn listens.  Once she’s settled, the woman reaches over to lay the palm of her hand over the lightning bolt scar. “Brace yourself,” she warns before speaking a Word that reverberates through the air and rattles in Evelyn’s bones.

Evelyn only has a moment to ponder this, as a fierce, burning pain erupts from her scar.  Her back arches up off the cot while it feels like a fire is lit in her veins. She feels her mouth fall open, but she can’t hear if she’s screaming or not, the pain is so great.  It keeps growing and growing and _growing_.  In an attempt to just be _done_ , she gathers what magic she can and hurls it in the direction of the Horcrux to try and shove it out.  Something finally gives. Evelyn gets one glance at the satisfied woman holding a pulsing blood red stone before darkness comes crashing down over her and she knows no more.


	3. That First Morning on Asgard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “For all that you hoarded any available time your wife had, we did manage to talk occasionally,” his brother says, tucking into his own plate.
> 
> “And you talked of my drinking habits?”
> 
> Thor shrugs. “I was trying to learn of the brother I had, rather than the image I had constructed for myself. Anything she was willing to give, I kept. If it taught me something about my new sister as well, all the better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My last post before going to see Avengers: Endgame tonight! Here's to hoping that I survive! See you on the other side!

The second time Loki wakes, it’s to the feel of his mother’s magic wrapped lovingly around him with Thor’s sparking magic at his back.  For a moment, he thinks he’s still sleeping. Still dreaming. Then the tattered remains of his marriage bond to Evelyn tug at his heartstrings, and he remembers the early morning chaos.

_ Thor remembered. _

Somehow, someway, Thor had regained his memories of the years that never were.  Loki has a sneaking suspicion it has something to do with his wife’s luck. He had thought it odd that he’d been able to feel Soul Magic in the air right after he’d woken up.

“Are you actually awake now, brother?”

Think of the oaf and he shall speak.

“Not particularly,” he mutters into his pillow.  For the first time in  _ years _ his instincts aren’t screaming at him about danger.  If Thor would just  _ keep quiet _ , then Loki thinks he could actually go right back to sleep he’s so relaxed.  Then a feminine hand slides down his spine, leaving chills in its wake, and Loki’s abruptly reminded that his magic is still twined with Frigga’s.

“My darling little prince, as much as I’d love for you to be able to sleep as long as you wish, the sun has risen and the morning begun,” his mother says gently, repeating the motion.

Loki moves just enough to be able to crack an eye open up at her.  She’s smiling down at him, no hint of fear or disgust anywhere on her face.  She’s just as he remembers her. Unable to help himself, he lets his glamor fall and holds his breath.  Her hand falters only momentarily.

“So, you know,” she murmurs with a look of sad understanding.

“I know,” he chokes out.

Frigga hums thoughtfully before leaning down to press her lips to his forehead. “Whatever you have done, you always have been and always will be my son,” she says again, and Loki even dares to believe her.  It’s difficult not to, what with how much he’s wrapped up in her magic. “Now, would you care to break your fast with us before we discuss the events of last night?”

“I had all your favorites brought up,” Thor adds almost eagerly.

With a grunt, Loki lets his glamor slide back into place as he pushes himself upright. “Who are you and what have you done with my oaf of a brother?” he grumbles halfheartedly. Thor just smiles brightly at him, clapping him on the shoulder and getting out of the bed they’re all piled up in.  Blinking rapidly, Loki realizes that they’re in Frigga and Odin’s personal chambers. He vaguely recalls Frigga mentioning something about that last night, but he’d been too exhausted at that point to really notice much of anything. “Father?” he blurts out without meaning to, wondering why he can’t see or sense Odin at all.

“Your father is tending to court to ensure we might be uninterrupted,” Frigga explains, brushing his bangs away from his eyes. “Yours will not be a short story, I imagine, not if you were driven to use Soul Magic.”

Loki flinches, bowing his head in an attempt to hide his tears.  The loss of Thor had been devastating, and Banner had followed half a year later from a poison neither he or Evelyn could counter.  However, they hadn’t started losing hope just yet. No, that hadn’t come until Stark and Rogers were cut down a year following Banner’s death.  Then he’d finally started looking into what could be done if they lost. When Barton and Romanoff fell less than a year after Stark and Rogers, Loki had come to the chilling realization that even if they did end up finally winning, everyone left would be so broken that any sort of victory would be achingly hollow.  Evelyn getting hit with a death spell had been his tipping point. There’d been nothing left to lose, so even if his attempt at Soul Magic had failed, at least they went out trying.

“ _ Loki, _ ” Thor’s voice cuts through his spiraling thoughts, and Loki’s head snaps up.

Watery green eyes meet solemn blue ones. “Three years,” he says hoarsely. “Three years was all it took for them to cut us all down after you died.”

“Enough, brother,” Thor instructs, reaching out and cradling Loki’s face between his hands and wiping away the few tears that start to roll down his cheeks. “You only need tell us once, and that time is not right this minute.  Come and eat first.”

“I haven’t eaten in a week,” he comments faintly, letting Thor pull him out of the bed and across the room.  He probably shouldn’t’ve said that, but the promise of food for the first time in a while is overpowering. All his energy had been devoted to trying to keep Evelyn alive long enough to find a way to stop the death spell.  He scrubs angrily at the tears still lingering in his eyes.

“Then it’s just as well I requested your favorites,” Thor says mildly.  He gently pushes Loki into a chair before immediately preparing a plate that he hands to Loki with a stern expression. “Eat.”

Loki does, nibbling on a slice of meat until it wakes up his appetite, and then he’s devouring the food on his plate.  A goblet is placed at his elbow, and he nearly protests before seeing no wine, only water. He blinks at it, then looks up questioningly at Thor.

“For all that you hoarded any available time your wife had, we did manage to talk occasionally,” his brother says, tucking into his own plate.

“And you talked of my drinking habits?” he questions, very aware of Frigga settling opposite the two of them.  She makes no comment on what passed between him and Thor mere moments earlier, but Loki can see she’s paler for all that she carries her usual pose and grace.

Thor shrugs. “I was trying to learn of the brother I had, rather than the image I had constructed for myself.  Anything she was willing to give, I kept. If it taught me something about my new sister as well, all the better.”

Loki dips his head in acceptance.  They’d both had to relearn the other.  Surprisingly, Thor had been sneaky about it.  He smiles faintly. Apparently Evelyn had approved, as she’d made no mention of their chats to him, not even after Thor fell.  Or perhaps she’d just wanted to spar him the pain of knowing his brother had been trying, only to lose him so abruptly.

As became a habit, Loki lets his magic blanket the three of them to keep assuring himself that they’re there.  Frigga blinks at the feeling, but Thor just shifts slightly so their shoulders press together. Loki relaxes into the touch, enjoying the way Thor’s lightning crackles against his ice in that it lets him know his brother is  _ alive _ .

“Thor,” he says suddenly, realizing something from the feel of Thor’s magic, “was the explosion last night because you broke Mjolnir again?”

“It might’ve been,” Thor returns blandly, not pausing in his eating. “Why do you wish to know?”

“Your magic doesn’t feel bound like it did before.”

Thor side-eyes him. “And is that going to be a problem?”

Loki shoots his brother a  _ look _ that makes most realize he’s doubting the intelligence of the recipient. “Only if you plan on bringing down the palace walls every night.  I  _ will _ retaliate if it becomes a habit.”

They glare at each other in silence for a few heartbeats before Thor chuckles. “Rest assured, brother, my power is mine to control again.”

“That is good to know, my son.”

Loki goes ramrod straight at the unexpected sound of Odin’s voice.  He faintly hears the cracking of the plate he’s got in a white knuckled grip over the roaring in his ears.  Ice floods his veins, chilling his breath without meaning to. His magic bubbles and crackles dangerously under his skin, begging for release.

Then thunder crashes through the ringing silence, and his vision is full of Thor.  Thor whose eyes glow pale blue with power while lightning arches into a protective dome around the two of them.  Loki gasps in a desperate breath and the air burns down to his lungs. He warms with every inhale and exhale he forces himself to take.

“Nothing will harm you, Loki,” Thor rumbles. “Not while I am here.”

“Don’t go making promises you can’t keep,” Loki snarls back.  They’d all stopped making such promises the longer the destruction lasted.  Though none of them meant to, every last one of them broke it.

A wry smile pulls at his brother’s lips as the lightning dies away. “Given that I have no desire to be on the receiving end of your wife’s temper again, this is one I will keep.”

Perhaps  _ that’s _ why Evelyn didn’t say anything about her chats with Thor.  She’s never particularly proud of losing her temper, for all that Loki enjoys watching her go off at someone, so it doesn’t surprise him that since he didn’t witness it, he hadn’t known.  Thor, of course, probably was too embarrassed by whatever Evelyn said to him to bring it up himself.

“Loki, you married again?” Frigga asks hesitantly, reminding Loki that for all that he  _ doesn’t _ want to see or deal with Odin, his mother at least deserves the truth.  So he inhales deeply, draws up the desired memory, and with his exhale, makes the palace room fade away and turn into the top floor of Stark’s tower.

Faintly, strains of  _ Never Knew I Needed _ by Ne-Yo can be heard playing in the background—and Loki only remembers that tidbit of information because she played it for  _ this _ —but the bulk of the memory focuses on him whirling Evelyn around the makeshift dance floor the team had provided once Evelyn put her plan into action.  He’s dressed as a Prince of Asgard should be on their wedding day—something Evelyn insisted he and Thor do, sans helmets—however, in his opinion at least, Evelyn still manages to surpass them both for all that she lacks gleaming armor.

Her stunning red curls are braided back, baring the majority of her neck as she throws her head back while laughing.  Her dress is a traditional white for her culture, but she’d added in green and gold accents to honor  _ him _ .  A single gold woven strap stretching from shoulder to shoulder holds the dress up, and two gold bands keep the slit sleeves in place.  One is mid upper arm and the other at her wrists. The bodice is a deep green velvet lined with gold designs. Around her slim, lithe waist is a gold cord that falls nearly to her feet, emeralds braided in that flash in the light every time he twirls her.

He’s got a ridiculously sappy grin plastered across his face, but even now he can’t find it in himself to care.  Evelyn had planned the entire thing, coordinating with everyone to surprise him. She’d saved asking for Thor’s help last, and in full view of everyone.  After flat out announcing that she intended to marry his brother no matter what, she’d asked if he, Thor, would do the honor of binding them together? There’s been a moment of stunned silence, as apparently  _ no one _ knew she’d been going to request that.  It’d only been broken when the book Loki had been reading slipped through numb fingers to fall to the floor.  And then Thor, with a suspiciously thick voice, had said that if that’s what his new sister wished, then who was he to deny her?  Evelyn had made a happy sound, grabbed Thor in a quick hug, and then turned a beaming smile towards Loki.

“Want to get married today?” she’d asked excitedly, for once the weight of their situation not showing at all on her face.  Unable to say no in the face of such joy—he’s kidding himself, he’s never really been able to deny her anything in his power to give—they’d been married that night.  It was the break none of them really had known they’d needed.

Now, watching the memory again with only Thor beside him, seeing the makeshift family they’d cobbled together whole and happy, is more painful than he’d thought it’d be.  Even if they all meet again, they won’t be the people he fought beside, died beside. It hurts, so he lets it all fade away again, blinking away the tears that just don’t seem to want to leave him alone today.

“Lady Evelyn Rosalie of House Potter, House Black, House Gryffindor, and House Slytherin is the woman I married four years ago or will twenty five years in the future,” he says quietly. “She is kind and brave and steadfast and loyal.  She has a fiery temper once provoked. She is selfishly selfless and able to bring out the best in just about anyone she meets.” He laughs weakly. “Myself included, for all that I fought her every step of the way. She has and will give her life if it means keeping those she considers under her protection safe.”

“She can also match your wit and magic word for word and blow for blow,” Thor adds helpfully.

“That she can, that she can,” Loki agrees fondly, “and I despised her for it that first year after we met.” Stars had they snipped and snarked back and forth while tearing the proverbial flesh off each other with whatever they could manage to eek out of the other.  It wasn’t until Evelyn had slipped and snapped at him about how at least his cell was more comfortable than a cupboard under the stairs that things had started to change. At first he’d been enraged because she was Hela’s Avatar, and no one touched something that belonged to one of  _ his _ , but it’d quickly changed to because it was  _ her _ .

“She mentioned being equally annoyed with you, although reluctantly glad that you didn’t know her history to begin with,” Thor comments.

Loki shrugs carelessly. “It was probably for the better for both of us.”  Then he sighs, dropping his face into his hands. He can’t keep avoiding talking about it. “In twenty two years time, the Convergence will occur,” he states flatly, ignoring the sharp intakes of breath across from him. “The Aether was found and because of that, Malekith awakened from wherever he and his kind are currently hibernating.  He managed to gain control of it, proceeding to then try and suck out all the light from the Nine Realms. We stopped him, but the damage was already done. The Realms were out of alignment, not that we knew. Not until two months later when Svartalfheim collapsed in on itself.”

He looks up now, looks at the two beings who raised him for better or for worse.  Frigga’s abject horror is expected, and Loki grieves for its necessity. Odin’s frozen look of betrayal, however, gives him vindicated pleasure.  He still remembers the stories of Bor, Odin’s father, and how he’d destroyed the Dark Elves. To see Odin experiencing the same pain he himself felt after learning the truth about his heritage, to learn that the one you looked up to  _ lied _ to you about something so vastly important, is darkly and  _ deeply _ satisfying.

“Alfheim followed Svartalfheim a year later.  Jotunheim and Muspelheim the year after.” Here he pauses, drawing in a shaking breath while reaching out to take Thor’s hand in his. “When Vanaheim collapsed the next year, Thor—” He chokes briefly before forcing himself to get the words out. “Thor fell with it ensuring that as many people as possible got to safety.”

“I am sorry my death caused you such sorrow, but I will not apologize for giving my life in return for your safety,” Thor says solemnly, laying his other hand on top of their joined ones.

“You and Eve do  _ not _ need to carry the weight of the Realms around on your shoulders,” he snaps, bristling because of  _ course _ the two people he holds closest to his heart have absolutely no sense of self preservation whatsoever.

Thor smiles sadly at him. “It is who we are, brother.”

“Yes, well, I’m starting to wish you  _ hadn’t _ had that blasted change of heart,” Loki grumbles, not really meaning it in the slightest.  He’d much rather have this Thor. This Thor, at least, will actually listen to what he has to say, rather than just brush him off the instant he goes to open his mouth.

“As you say, brother.” Thor gives his hand one gentle squeeze before letting go. “How did the others fare after my death?”

“You’re being oddly calm about that particular fact.”

“And what good would come of dwelling on something that has no longer happened?  I made my peace with it then. Nothing’s changed beyond the fact that I’ve now survived.”

“Please, may we not—” Frigga’s broken voice reminds Loki that for all he’s somewhat made peace with the idea of Thor dying, Frigga most certainly has  _ not _ .

“My apologies, Mother, I didn’t mean to distress you,” Loki murmurs as Thor moves to sit beside her.  She presses up against him, latching onto him physically and magically in an attempt to reassure herself that her son is really there.

“You held a Gate open yourself?” Odin speaks up for the first time since he arrived, and Loki has to refrain from instinctively slapping a silencing spell onto the man.  He doesn’t think that’d go over very well with anyone but himself.

“I did, but Loki was the one who opened it in the first place,” Thor says, nodding in his direction.

“There were cracks everywhere, it wasn’t overly hard,” he mutters back.

“Yet no one else could, or did,” his brother points out. “Nor, I imagine, would they have been able to connect Vanaheim and Nidavelir as you did to enable the evacuation in the first place.  The others?”

Loki sighs when Thor again requests information about after him dying. “Banner didn’t last the year.  We never could determine what exactly he’d been poisoned with, but it ate away at him and the Hulk all the same.  We lost Rogers and Stark when Nidavelir fell. Rogers was cut down mid battle, but none of us could get to him in time to save him.  Stark blew up his armor shortly thereafter. We didn’t ever learn why exactly he did that. Not even his faithful machines could answer that question for us.” Evelyn had been devastated.  She took every death hard, but those two? Stark was something they both enjoyed matching wits with, and Rogers’ kind heart was someone his wife found a kindred spirit in. “When we were moving refugees, Romanoff was killed and Barton didn’t last long without her.  Neither Evelyn or I could truly begrudge him that fact. I did the same, after all.” He laughs bitterly. “It’s what landed us here.”

“And Asgard?”

“Fell four months go.  As I said, Midgard and Niflheim were the only two remaining.” His hands twist at the fabric on his legs as he fights for control. “T’Challa fell with Wakanda and his people when the Dark Elves and Chitauri made their final move a week ago, and Evelyn was hit with a blasted death spell.  I managed to keep her alive for a week for nothing.” A harsh sob escapes as he doubles over. “I couldn’t  _ save _ her!  Her, of all people!  She who learned what I’d done, what madness I’d descended to, and still reached out a hand to save me.  She  _ saved _ me, and I couldn’t bloody well return the favor, not even with all my magic and knowledge and wit at my disposal.” His knuckles are bone white as he slams a hand onto the table in front of him.  It creaks and groans, but holds.

“You saved her, Loki,” Thor insists. “You saved all of us.”

He raises his head to sneer at his brother, stopping him from coming over again. “And yet I took so much more than I gave.  I took her  _ son _ from her, Thor.  She’s but a child now, and the boy isn’t even born yet.  Now there’s no hope of ever recovering him like I had planned to.”

Only once had Evelyn shown him a picture of the little boy left to her to raise after the war she’d grown up in.  It’d been after Alfheim fell and they’d just started working with those on Midgard. She’d been quiet—a sad, solemn kind of quiet—and he’d questioned her.  Questioned why she sat on a ledge of Stark’s tower looking east like her heart was breaking when it was a sunny summer day. With tears rolling down her cheeks, she’d answered him.  Told him about the boy she’d raised and loved and had had to leave behind. Told him how he was graduating from Hogwarts that very day, and how she’d sworn to stay away until everything was settled.  How she didn’t want to drag him into this mess and for him to live as normal a life as he could. How it still hurt, painfully and desperately, but she’d do it because he was her son and she loved him so much.  Then she’d quietly asked to be left alone and to please not bring him up again.

He’d done as she asked, leaving her alone out there on the balcony.  He’d made sure that no one else disturbed her, and when she was back to her usual self the day after, he never brought it up.  However, he never forgot. Never forgot that she loved that boy with her whole heart and soul for all that there wasn’t a shared drop of blood between the two of them.  And if he wanted her, then that boy would eventually be his as well. She’d accept nothing less. So he made plans. Plans he never actually told his wife about to respect his promise.  However, while making them, he’d managed to make peace with the notion of Frigga being his mother.

Thor reels back like he’s been slapped. “She had a child?”

“A son,” he states flatly. “One she’d been forced to leave behind.  His birth parents were killed in the war and they had named her his godmother.  She raised him from an infant and then sent him off to school before Hela dumped her in—” His teeth clack from how quickly he shuts his mouth.  Neither he or Thor have mentioned his imprisonment. He exhales sharply through his nose before continuing. “Before Hela dumped her in my cell,” he finishes around clenched teeth.

Thor blinks. “I had wondered how you two met.”

“Your cell?” Frigga repeats, concerned. “Loki, why were you in a cell?”

“Because I’d discovered I was Jotun, attempted to destroy Jotunheim with the Bifrost, fell off the bridge, and then under Thanos’ influence, tried to take over Midgard,” he snarls, temper worn and frayed. “Odin didn’t particularly appreciate that, so into a cell I went.”

“The Mad Titan?” Odin demands. “How did you come by him?”

He bristles, magic surging through his veins as his temper spikes like only Odin can make it. “I  _ told _ you, I fell off the bridge!  Thor destroyed the Observatory to save Jotunheim and I fell off shortly thereafter.”

“You let go, brother,” Thor softly corrects him. “You let go and we mourned your death for a year after.”

“Well forgive me for thinking it better to be rid of you after discovering I was nothing more than a pawn!” he roars, leaping to his feet to tower over all three. “A stolen relic that no matter how much you may claim to love,” he points a trembling finger at Odin, “you could never actually see sitting on the throne of Asgard!”

Silence falls after his outburst.  Thor bows his head, unable to say anything.  Frigga appears ready to cry again, and Loki hates himself for it.  Odin, though? Odin appears defeated for the first time that Loki can remember.

“My son—”

“I am  _ not _ your son,” he hisses. “I have no father.” Unable to bear to be in the man’s presence anymore, Loki turns and storms out.


	4. Fun at Gringotts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Joy,” she deadpans. “Well, lead on, then. I wanted to talk with someone anyways. Might as well be King Ragnok.”
> 
> “King?!” Dudley’s strangled shriek brings her more joy than it probably should, given their current situation of being led into previously unknown depths of the bank. “We’re going to see a king?!”
> 
> “Cousin mine, stick with me long enough, and I’ll introduce you to the bloody king of Asgard,” she drawls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I survived Endgame. But gods above, the feels! Anyways, enjoy chapter 4!

Evelyn wakes to blessedly blissful silence.  None of that screaming nonsense from earlier.  She pries her eyes open to glare sleepily up at a ceiling that she doesn’t recognize.  That, of course, has her bolting upright, which turns out to be a horrible idea. The room spins as she flops back down with a groan, pressing the palms of her hands over her aching eyes.

“Eve?”

“Buggering _fuck_ , that hurt worse than last time,” she spits out.  Of course it hurts worse than last time. The Killing Curse, surprisingly, is actually painless.  Having a Horcrux extracted while fully conscious and connected to your nervous system is bound to be more painful.  Why that woman couldn’t have knocked her out before hand, Evelyn doesn’t know.

“Are you gonna be okay?” Dudley asks warily.

“Once the room stops trying to upend itself, yeah, I’ll be fine,” she hisses. “Do you know where we are?”

“She said she put us up in a room in a leaky cauldron?”

Well, that makes things significantly easier for what Evelyn has planned to do before trying to somehow get to Asgard.  Peeking out of one eye, she sees that the room does look vaguely similar to the one she’d stayed in before her third year.

“Food?”

“To be brought up when we ask for it.  Is this place really called ‘Leaky Cauldron’?”

Evelyn huffs out a weak laugh. “Yeah.  We aren’t really the brightest when it comes to naming things.”

“As long as it doesn’t actually leak.”

She laughs for real this time.  She laughs long and hard until her laughter turns into sobs and she curls up into a ball, letting out all her accumulated grief.  When Dudley hurriedly settles onto the bed beside her, she clings to him. Mercifully, he doesn’t say anything, just awkwardly pats her back and lets her cry.

“I’m sorry,” she gasps out. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Eve, _no_ ,” Dudley rushes to stop her apologies. “You had a reason, it’s _okay_.”

“They were all _gone_ ,” she cries. “They were gone and I couldn’t—we couldn’t—”

“It’s okay, we’re okay.”

She viciously shakes her head.  It’s not okay. Her family is _gone_.  Both magical and mundane.  All the trials and hardships and joys and triumphs they shared together, gone.  Even if she manages to meet them again, they won’t remember and they won’t be _hers_.  When the grief threatens to overwhelm her, she forcibly shoves it to the back of her mind.  Dudley, for all that he changed, can’t help her with this. Breaking apart will have to wait until she gets to Asgard and Loki.

She uncurls from around her cousin, furiously wiping away her tears.  He gives her a concerned look, but she waves it away.

“I’m fine now,” she says, her voice wavering only slightly.

His expression is dubious—rightly so, she thinks—but he doesn’t push her on it.  Probably realizes there’s not much he can do, not with how little he actually knows about what exactly she’s been through. “Food then?”

“Yeah, food,” she agrees.  Food should be simple, and she needs simple right now. “Do we ring for it?”

Dudley pulls a face. “Ah, something about a house elf?”

Evelyn blinks. “I didn’t even know there was a house elf here.  Huh.” She shrugs. “Service please.”

With a faint _pop_ , a house elf in a pillow case appears at the end of the bed. “What can Daffy be getting sir and miss?”

Ignoring Dudley’s startled yelp, she realizes she has no idea what time of day it is. “What meal is being served right now?”

“Lunch, miss.”

Well, she apparently slept in late.  Good thing they aren’t at Privet Drive anymore.  Petunia would’ve thrown a fit if she’d slept in that late there. “You wouldn’t happen to have fish and chips, would you?” she asks hopefully.  That and tea are the two things she’s missed the most about home. The tea is abysmal over in America, so she learned to live with coffee to not subject herself to that horror, and she never did find anywhere that did as good fish and chips as any she had in England.  She’ll get her tea fix later, but if they have fish and chips, then she just might start crying again.

“We is having fish and chips.  Is that was miss be wanting?”

“ _Please."_  Her mouth’s already watering and she hasn’t even gotten a whiff of food smell yet.

“And sir?” Daffy looks at Dudley, who hasn’t made a sound beyond his earlier yelp. “What does sir be wanting?”

“Fish and chips is fine,” he says faintly.

“Daffy be returning shortly with sir and miss’ food.” With another _pop_ , the house elf disappears, and Evelyn collapses while giggling after getting a good look at Dudley’s face.

“What was that?” he demands. “That looked like a little troll, goblin thing!”

Evelyn can’t help her snort. “I’d recommend _not_ saying that when we go to Gringotts later, cousin mine.  The goblins will take serious offence, and let me tell you, that’s something to be avoided.  And _that_ was a house elf.  Usually you’ll see them bound to a particular wizarding family, but establishments have them as well.  They’re a bit like having all the hired help rolled up into one little helpful creature.”

Dudley blinks rapidly. “What’s Gringotts and why the bloody hell would _goblins_ be there?”

Evelyn tilts her head to the side. “I could’ve sworn I explained that to you.  Gringotts is the bank here, and the goblins run it. We’ll be going there after we eat to see what can be done before my eleventh birthday.  Don’t think I’ll get access to much, but I just want to check regardless.” And start poking at how to get that bloody Horcrux out of Lestrange’s vault without having to ride a fucking dragon through the bank’s ceiling.  Avoiding having to reenact that particular nightmare would be greatly appreciated. Evelyn’s pretty sure Loki would try and lock her away if she did, and she’d rather not have to hex her husband silly for the attempt.

“Right, goblins run banks.” Dudley scrubs a hand over his face. “And do you have any idea what we’re doing after that?”

“I had planned on trying to figure out a way to reach my husband.”

Dudley nods. “Your husband, right.  Who was he, again? That Draco guy?”

Now it’s her turn to pull a face.  At one time, maybe. They’d raised Teddy together—and the mere thought of her son, now truly lost to her, is a horrible punch to the gut that she _will not dwell on right now_ , thanks—and she’d been happy with him.  She’d honestly thought that maybe they could have a life together.  Then Hela had grabbed her and dumped her into Loki’s lap. Draco had been easy, for all that the mere idea was ridiculous.  Loki had challenged and excited her in ways no one else ever had before.

“No, not Draco,” she whispers, suddenly immensely glad that she won’t have to deal with that particular explosion, cowardly as the thought is.  She smiles weakly at her cousin. “Loki of Asgard, actually.”

“Ah,” is all Dudley says, his head bobbing up and down in a parody of a nod because he just keeps _doing it_.

Well, she officially broke her cousin.

“Just ignore that little fact for now,” she suggests, patting him on the shoulder. “You look like your brain is hurting.”

“Why are you so impossible?” he groans, flopping backwards to bury his face in a pillow.

Even though he can’t see her, she grins down at him. “I’m a Potter, love.  We are never ordinary. Our luck doesn’t allow for anything less.”

“Bloody Potter Luck,” Dudley mutters as Daffy pops back in with two steaming plates.

“Lunch for sir and miss,” the elf says, depositing the food onto a table snapped up before disappearing again.

“Merciful magic, that smells _amazing_ ,” Evelyn breathes, scrambling off the bed and onto one of the two chairs provided as well.  Not even waiting for Dudley to join her, she cuts off a big hunk of fish and puts it in her mouth despite the heat.  The moan she produces is probably something she should save for her husband, given how red Dudley’s face goes, but the fish is so fucking _good_.

“Can you please _not_?” Dudley requests, settling opposite her and tucking in as well. “I’d like to be able to eat too, thanks.”

She points her knife at him in mock warning. “I’ve not had decent fish and chips or _tea_ in eight years.  I will bloody well make whatever sounds I choose, thank you kindly.”

Dudley stares at her before shaking his head. “Nope, just not asking.”

Evelyn has to resist the urge to cackle.  It’s not hard, what with the delicious food in front of her.  So instead she just smirks at Dudley from across the table. He, in turn, pointedly ignores her.  They eat their meal in relative silence, only a few appreciative noises escaping her every now and then.  None of them as obscene as that first one, though.

She’s licking lingering salt off her fingers, humming happily under her breath, when Dudley suddenly asks, “Eve, is there a reason your hair’s red again?  I thought you had black when we were young.”

She pauses mid lick, blinks as the question registers, then reaches up to tug on a lock.  Surprisingly, not only is it the familiar shade of red she acquired after losing the Horcrux the first time, it’s also far longer than Petunia ever allowed her to have.  She’s a bit amazed she hadn’t noticed this before. “Not a sodding clue,” she replies. “It changed the first time I lost the Horcrux. Did I have it before the soul piece was removed?”

“You blew up the _stairs_ ,” Dudley stresses. “I wasn’t worried about your bloody hair color.  Why?”

She shrugs. “Then I haven’t the foggiest.  Just chalk it up to Potter Luck and be done with it.  You’ll only give yourself a migraine otherwise trying to logic it out.”

“Trying to apply logic to _you_ is enough to give anyone a migraine,” Dudley mutters.

She grins cheekily. “I do so try.  Now, are you finished? If you are, I’d like to head to Gringotts now.  No telling how bloody long this’ll take.”

“Yeah, I’m done.” He slides out of his chair only to go over to a stack of cloth she hadn’t noticed before now. “We’re apparently supposed to wear these before going out into Diagon Alley.” He holds up two cloaks. “She also left us a change of clothes.”

Evelyn frowns. “That’s oddly specific.  How would she even know our sizes?”

Dudley gives her an incredulous look. “You think _I_ know?  I was just bloody happy you’d stopped screaming.  I didn’t think to ask about the offer of free clothes.”

“Another thing to talk to Hela about,” she grumbles, walking over to grab a cloak and her change of clothes. “Washroom?” He points to one of the two doors.  She nods in thanks before striding purposefully over to it. “I’ll knock before coming back out, so you change too.” She doesn’t wait for a reply, simply shutting the door firmly behind herself.  Clutching the clothes to her chest, she draws in a deep breath before making herself look in the mirror.

It’s sort of what she expected, yet at the same time, not.

Her hair is the familiar red tangled curls she gained twenty two years prior.  Sharp emerald green eyes stare back at her warily, and above them is an already fading lightning bolt.  She has to admit, she’s looking forward to no one being able to use that to recognize her. With a slightly manic grin, she realizes she can even play dumb about the stupid thing if she plays her cards right.  No more stupid Scarface!

The state of the rest of her body, however, is definitely cause for concern.  She’s _really_ short and almost gaunt with how skinny she is.  She sighs. Loki is going to fuss up a storm and probably force feed her potions to try and do damage control.  Maybe she’ll manage to be taller this go round, she thinks wistfully.

The clothes are simple enough.  Jeans, surprisingly, and a green collared shirt.  If Evelyn didn’t know that there’s no feasible way for Loki to have been a part of choosing said clothes, she’d accuse him of trying to stake a claim.  In the end, she just puts both on, grimacing at how freaking tiny the pants are. She has nothing on her to be able to work with her hair, so it’ll just have to be what it is.

She knocks hard on the door, and when Dudley doesn’t protest, slips back into the main room.  He got jeans as well, and a plain black shirt. He stares at her in horrified fascination, her old clothes having done a pretty good job of covering up her slimness.

“Not a word,” she warns, pointing a finger at him. “I’ll be fine.  Leave the fussing to my husband.”

Dudley, of course, ignores her and walks over to grab her in a rather tight hug. “I’m sorry,” he whispers desperately into her hair.

She sighs, patting him awkwardly on the back. “We were kids, Dud.  We were kids and your parents not the best of role models. I forgave you for all that, remember?  We even went to therapy together and everything. Please, please, _please_ don’t start bringing it back up.”

“Sorry, sorry.” He hurriedly backs away, clearing his throat. “So, Gringotts?”

They both know what he’s doing, but since Evelyn has absolutely _no_ intention of opening that box back up again, she let’s it go. “Gringotts,” she agrees, easily throwing her cloak around her shoulders.  Dudley, attempting to copy her and utterly failing, manages to get himself thoroughly tangled. “Want help?” Evelyn asks mildly, her lips twitching as she fights to hold in her laughter.

He shoots her a glare. “Not all of us are dramatic ponces,” he grumbles, tugging helplessly at the fabric.

“Hah, if you think being able to put on a simple cloak is ponce worthy, my husband would blow your mind,” Evelyn chuckles, stepping up to help set him to straights.

“He already makes my head hurt, and I thought we agreed not to bring him up again.”

“You’re going to have to accept it at some point.”

“Not today I don’t,” he hisses back, which, fair.

With one last tug, she has the cloak situated properly over her cousin’s shoulders. “Right then, shall we go?”

Dudley waves a hand at the door. “After you.  I haven’t the foggiest where we’re going.”

She places her hand on the door knob before turning back. “Do we have a key?” she asks. “For that matter, how long exactly do we even have the room for?”

Her cousin holds up a key and replies, “Two days.  We gotta figure something out by tomorrow, even if it’s just rebooking the room.”

Evelyn nods. “Easily done,” she says, throwing the door open and marching determinedly out.  She throws her hood up, hearing Dudley scramble to get the door locked and hurry after her. He huffs under his breath once he does, knocking his arm into her in mock irritation.  She just grins to herself, glad to have him beside if nothing else.

Getting into Diagon Alley, thankfully, goes off without a hitch.  Evelyn has a brief moment of panic when she realizes she has no wand to open the the doorway, but they manage to approach it along with a group that they can slip in with.

“Blimey,” Dudley breathes, and Evelyn can’t help her proud grin.  For all the Wizarding World’s faults, Diagon Alley is rather spectacular.  Stepping into it the first time is a bit like seeing Hogwarts as a first year when the boats round that last corner.  Magical beyond all reasonable forms of description.

“Come on, Gringotts is down at the end,” Evelyn says, tugging at her cousin’s sleeve when he remains rooted where he is.  He stumbles after her, head whipping in every direction to take in every last little detail that he can. It tears at her heart, but she completely and utterly ignores Eeylops Owl Emporium as they walk by.  She can’t bear the thought of accidentally seeing the owl that might be Hedwig.

When they finally get through the first set of doors to the bank, Evelyn pauses to let Dudley read the words carved into the silver doors they still have to go through.  It’s an experience and a rather good warning.

_Enter, stranger, but take heed_

_Of what awaits the sin of greed_

_For those who take, but do not earn,_

_Must pay most dearly in their turn._

_So if you seek beneath our floors_

_A treasure that was never yours,_

_Thief, you have been warned, beware_

_Of finding more than treasure there._

“Well that’s terrifying,” Dudley mutters, shuffling a bit closer to her.

“That’s rather the point, I think,” Evelyn laughs, reaching out to push open the door. “Keeps people from—”

The sudden blaring of alarms cuts her statement short.

Evelyn blinks stupidly as the door she just touched continues to swing open without her help, revealing every goblin on the floor suddenly up in arms. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she says flatly when all eyes snap onto her.

“Your luck bloody sucks, Eve,” Dudley grumbles.

“I didn’t _do_ anything!” she hisses back, even as the goblins close ranks around them.

“Witch, King Ragnok will see you now,” one commands, eyeing her and Dudley warily.

The twitch of an eyebrow is the only form of frustration Evelyn allows herself to show. “Joy,” she deadpans. “Well, lead on, then.  I wanted to talk with someone anyways. Might as well be King Ragnok.”

“ _King?!_ ” Dudley’s strangled shriek brings her more joy than it probably should, given their current situation of being led into previously unknown depths of the bank. “We’re going to see a _king?!_ ”

“Cousin mine, stick with me long enough, and I’ll introduce you to the bloody king of Asgard,” she drawls.  After she rips him a new one for his abysmal parenting skills, however. She has eight years of ammo lined up, and by the grace of magick itself, she’s going to use it, damn it!  The pained moan he produces has her grinning just a bit viciously. There’s a brief moment where the steady thudding of boots falters, but when Evelyn looks at their escorts, nothing shows on any of their faces.

The door they’re led to, surprisingly, is not big and large and gold and covered in gems like Evelyn had expected.  Well, she supposes it’s large for a goblin, but a full grown wizard could still easily fit through it. The wood is stained darkly, making the little inlaid silver stand out all the more.

One of the two guards standing on either side of it knocks three times as they approach before opening it.  Evelyn sweeps in, confident in every step she takes for all that this entire situation has her rattled. She has absolutely no idea what set off the alarm, but it’s definitely something to do with her.  Dudley is a silent shadow now, hovering at her elbow. For that, she’s grateful. He’s probably terrified out of his mind, but so long as he stays quiet and lets her talk, she’s fairly certain she can get them out whatever this is.

“King Ragnok,” she says, dipping into a bow because curtsying without a skirt is just too weird. “Well—”

“I do not need your simpering pleasantries, witch,” King Ragnok snarls, standing at the base of a throne that, again, is far less gaudy that Evelyn expected. “Explain to me why you dared bring Soul Magic into my bank!”

Everything in her stills.

“And how, exactly, do you claim to know I did?” she asks softly, straightening back up to look Ragnok in the eye.

“We have wards, witch, wards that your people only dream of learning, and your magic reeks of it.” He points his sword at her. “Do you deny this?”

“I deny nothing,” she throws back. “Now what, exactly, has you all up in arms over that little fact?”

“Soul Magic is dangerous and I make it a point to know when anything dangerous enters my bank.”

Evelyn tilts her head to the side, lips curling back in a snarl when one goblin takes a step towards her cousin. “ **Touch him and I’ll gladly demonstrate why exactly I caught the eye of Loki Odinson, Prince of Asgard.  And don’t think I’m just a squeamish little human. I’ve fought in two different wars and have seen my fair share of death,** ” she growls, slipping into their native language to make sure they know she’s serious.  She’d made it a point to learn Gobbledegook after the war and the entire fiasco at the bank.

That seems to give Ragnok pause, because he holds up a hand and all goblins freeze where they are. “ **You know our tongue.** ”

She raises an eyebrow. “ **I know a fair number of things, probably more than my so called Magical Guardian would care for me to.** ” She bares her teeth at him. “ **Would you like a demonstration?** ”

There’s a moment of silence before Ragnok shakes his head. “No, I think not.  However, you still haven’t explained how and why you brought Soul Magic into my bank.”

“The how, I suppose, is because my husband used Soul Magic on me.  Unfortunately, it seems like some remains of it still linger in my own magic, regardless of the fact that it should’ve left by now.  As to the why?” She gives Ragnok a disbelieving look. “Why does anyone visit a bank? I wanted to see my account manager and do whatever I could before my birthday when I’ll take up the mantle of Lady of House Potter, House Gryffindor, and House Slytherin.”

“You willingly let someone use Soul Magic on you?” Ragnok asks incredulously.

Her expression falls flat. “Well, it was either that or die.  Surprisingly, I chose the option where I might live.”

“Eve?” Dudley whispers hesitantly, placing a hand on her arm.

“I said they were all gone, didn’t I, cousin?” Her laugh is broken and sharp. “Every last one of them dead as the Realms collapsed one by one.” She fixes a wild look on Ragnok, who actually takes a step back in the face of her grief. “We used Soul Magic, King Ragnok, because we had nothing left to lose.  We were the last two left, my husband and I. We were the last that remained of those not in hiding while the world fell to pieces around us. Does that sound like a suitable time to use Soul Magic, your majesty?”

Silence falls again.  She’s getting rather good at making that happen.

“It appears we have misjudged you entirely,” Ragnok intones, sheathing his sword.  Then, to Evelyn complete and utter amazement, he places a hand over his heart and bows to her. “Well met Evelyn Rosalie Potter, Warrior of the Realms.”

Stiffening her spine, she returns the bow. “Well met King Ragnok, Director of Gringotts Bank.”

They both straighten back up, regarding the other with the respect of an equal.

“How may Gringotts assist you, Warrior Potter?” Ragnok inquires.

“I’d really like to talk with my account manager if at all possible,” she requests a touch dryly. “There are things I’d like for him to prep for our meeting on my birthday, as I have plans to be in Asgard until then.”

“Of course.  Griphook will take you to Account Manager Barchoke’s office immediately.”

Evelyn dips her head respectfully. “My thanks.” She starts to turn, only for something to occur to her. “Is this nonsense going to happen every time I try and visit my vaults?”

Ragnok seems to consider this.  He doesn’t look anymore fond of the idea than her. “I’ll have our Curse Breakers look into it.  I will have an answer before you leave.”

“Lovely.   **Honor and glory to you, King Ragnok.** ”

The goblin king blinks in obvious surprise before a wide grin spreads across his lips. “ **Honor and glory to you as well, Warrior Potter.** ”

Evelyn returns the grin, then turns on her heel and follows Griphook out of the office.


	5. Done with all the feels, thanks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He smiles wryly. “Rest assured, whatever stories Loki told of our younger years will not be happening again.”
> 
> “That is good, because my retaliation would be much worse than it was in our youth,” Loki comments blandly.  He hadn’t expected it otherwise, but everyone else will probably be thankful for that bit.
> 
> There’s a bit of cheekiness in the smile Thor offers back. “Forgive me, brother, but I think I fear Evelyn’s retaliation more than yours.”

Without meaning to, Loki’s feet take him to the garden he frequented when he was younger.  It had been his escape whenever he couldn’t take anymore of Thor’s pigheadedness. It also happened to be the one Frigga would occasionally visit.  They spent many a sunny afternoon together, Frigga teaching Loki some spell or just each reading a book.

Now, he collapses onto one of the benches Frigga had put in years ago.  He’s shaking, from rage or fear, he’s not quite sure. Probably a combination of the two.  Even seven years after last seeing the man, he’s still not prepared to face Odin. It’s a bit humiliating, actually.  He gasps out a desperate sob, doubling over as he attempts to rein in his grief.

He wants Evelyn.

He wants her, yet knows she won’t come.  Not now, not when he needs her strength and confidence and wit and kindness as a buffer against the hardships that await him here.  For all that Thor will try, he just doesn’t understand like Evelyn does. His magic crawls under his skin, reaching for her even though she’s far beyond his grasp.  After four years of having her settled inside him, the sudden separation is rubbing him the wrong way.

The soft, barely noticeable sound of paws on grass draws him back to the present.  He lifts his head to see Fenrir prowling around the edge of the garden, dark grey fur blending in with the shadows.  Today the wolf is roughly the size of a horse. It must be because he came into the palace proper, usually choosing to be much larger.

Stars, that’d been an interesting conversation with Evelyn.  With the whole team, actually. He’d been _very_ surprised that the legends placed Fenrir, Sleipnir, and Jörmungandr as his _biological_ children.  Fenrir and Sleipnir, he partially understood.  He raised both of them from infancy, imbued them with his magic and power.  It’s how Fenrir’s capable of changing his size and why Sleipnir was born with eight legs instead of four(Evelyn and Barton had laughed themselves sick after _that_ particular story).  Jörmungandr, though? That he has _no_ idea where the stories came from.  The only time he ever had a serpent in his possession was when he stumbled upon a basilisk, and that had been pure accident.  He’d rather quickly passed it off to Salazar. The blasted thing wanted absolutely nothing to do with him and he with it.

“Hello Fenrir,” he murmurs in greeting.

_Father,_ the wolf rumbles back, finally approaching. _You are distressed about something.  We felt the taint in the air last night._

Loki sinks his fingers into Fenrir’s fur. “I was forced to use Soul Magic,” he whispers as Fenrir settles on the ground beside him.  That statement, of course, has the wolf’s head shooting back up.

_I remember you telling us of the dangers of it.  What could possibly drive you to use it?_

“Nothing good.” He swallows around the lump in his throat. “The Nine Realms were collapsing.  There were so few of us left.” He chuckles weakly. “I married again, Fen. She…stars, she’s everything I could ever dream of wanting.  She met me at my lowest, when I’d all but given up on myself, and she dragged me back up. And then she went and got hit with a death spell and I couldn’t…” He chokes, bowing his head and tightening his grip on Fenrir’s fur. “I used Soul Magic because I couldn’t lose her like I lost Sigyn.”

_Is she the one Sister Hela is so excited over?_

Loki manages to nod. “She’s Hela’s Avatar on Midgard.  She’s even Godric and Salazar’s Heirs. She’s every bit as fierce and daring and courageous as Godric and can be as sly and witty and tricky as Salazar.  She is as loyal as Helga ever was and her thirst for knowledge as powerful as Rowena’s. She has the best and worst of all four of them in her.” She, unfortunately, got Godric’s bullheadedness and stubbornness and sheer _recklessness_ , Salazar’s ability to reduce someone to a whimpering mess with but a few words(he’s okay with that ability when it’s not pointed at him but stars had she wielded it masterfully against him at first), Rowena’s single mindedness when researching in that she forgets the rest of the world, and, just like Helga, once her loyalty is lost, there’s no chance of redemption in her eyes.

Fenrir shifts slightly to press up against his legs. _Her name?_

Now he can smile, if only faintly. “Evelyn Rosalie Potter.”

_I look forward to meeting her, then.  When will you be bringing to Asgard?_

His expression sours, magic chilling the air slightly with his displeasure. “Hela forbid me to go and get her.”

Fenrir side eyes him. _I know Sister Hela is Goddess of Death, but you are her father and her Alpha.  She should not be able to forbid you anything._

Loki barks out a sharp, painful laugh. “As Goddess of Death, when she chooses to intervene, even Odin Allfather listens.  Death is beyond time, and as such, she’s sometimes privy to things we do not know and will not for a time yet. And then there’s little fact that she was accompanied by someone I would swear on my magic was a Valkyrie, but the woman had _black_ feathers, not white.  She even called Hela ‘milady’.”

_I do not remember Sister Hela ever having Valkyrie of her own.  They are all from Valhalla, correct?_ the wolf asks.

“I thought so as well, but last night proved otherwise,” Loki mutters.  Why, then, hadn’t Hela mentioned it to him before? While he might not’ve been able to be the best father to her after the incident that forced her to Helheim, he still tried.  They met when they could and talked about their lives. Somehow gaining Valkyrie should’ve been something monumental to inform him of. She’d complained multiple times that having to go out and collect souls was exhausting on top of having to make sure everything was in place in Helheim when said souls arrived.  He would think that getting someone to help would be something she’d be rather eager to talk about.

Fenrir nudges him before pointing his snout back towards the palace. _Your brother is approaching.  Should I chase him away?_

Loki can’t help his snort of amusement.  There’s been a few times where he’s taken Fenrir up on the offer and it’s always been entertaining. “No, he can come.  You’ll find he’s a rather changed man, Fen.”

The wolf grumbles in the back of his throat. _I will believe that when I see it._

Now that Loki’s actually concentrating on it, he can feel the sparking of Thor’s power getting closer.  He tips his head to the side, watching his brother come into view and then pause at the garden’s edge.

“Is my company welcome, brother?” Thor inquires, raising his voice only enough to be heard. “Or are you going to have Fenrir chase me away again?”

Loki smiles tiredly at him, jerking his head in offering. “It’s not you I’m angry with.  At least, not right now.”

Thor dips his head in acknowledgement while walking over. “Then I shall endeavour to keep it that way.” He settles himself on the bench on the opposite side of Loki that Fenrir is. “Hello Fenrir.  Keeping Loki company?”

Fenrir regards him silently for a moment before pointing out, _You are missing your hammer._

“He blew it up last night,” Loki says blithely, amused with how the wolf twitches. “That’s what the explosion was, and why our wing of the palace is little more than rubble at the moment.”

_I had wondered._ He gives Thor a measured look. _And what, exactly, drove you to destroying the weapon that enables you to wield your powers more easily?_

Thor, unlike what Fenrir is probably expecting, just sighs. “Having given my life with Mjolnir already broken, only to find myself waking up in a bed I had not slept in for four years, caused my powers to react badly and it was too much for Mjolnir to handle.  While I will mourn the loss again,” Lightning jumps easily between his fingertips, snapping and cracking and popping in the air, “I had a year to master my power without it.” He smiles wryly. “Rest assured, whatever stories Loki told of our younger years will not be happening again.”

“That is good, because my retaliation would be much worse than it was in our youth,” Loki comments blandly.  He hadn’t expected it otherwise, but everyone else will probably be thankful for that bit.

There’s a bit of cheekiness in the smile Thor offers back. “Forgive me, brother, but I think I fear Evelyn’s retaliation more than yours.”

Loki pauses, thinks about it, and then nods in agreement. “Fair enough.” She is rather vicious about protecting what’s hers, just like him.  Given that she’s already had a go at Thor, it’s perfectly logical that his brother would wish to prevent a repeat of said experience. No need to inform Thor that that would only happen if he _really_ screwed up.  A little fear is healthy in life.

_You have met Father’s new wife, then?_ Fenrir asks.

Thor puffs his chest out proudly. “I married them.  She is good for him and he for her. Our team decorated the tower we resided in for the occasion at Evelyn’s request.”

Fenrir cocks his head to the side, giving Loki a curious look. _You did not marry here in Asgard?_

He grimaces, fingers tightening around Fenrir’s fur without meaning to. “Neither of us were welcome in Asgard at the time.” And Loki isn’t sure he’d have even wanted to if they had been, what with Frigga being dead and most of Asgard hating him.  Pushing those thoughts away, as he refuses to dwell on them, he looks to Thor. “How was Mother when you left?” he asks softly, carding his fingers through Fenrir’s fur in apology.

Thor exhales noisily. “Distraught, but giving Father a tongue lashing.  Apparently, telling you the truth of your heritage has been something of a disagreement between them ever since our youth.”

_Is that why Father smells like frost when none of the rest of your pack does?_ Fenrir inquires. _Because I had wondered, but it did not seem like an issue when your Alpha accepted him regardless._

“You knew?” Loki hisses, lurching to his feet. “You knew and you said _nothing?_ ”

“Brother, he knew no better,” Thor hurriedly says, standing as well and maneuvering himself between them. “While he might’ve known of the Jotun, can you honestly say that Fenrir has ever met another Jotun besides yourself?  How was he to know what the difference in our scents truly meant?”

Loki remains rooted where he stands, breathing harshly, as Fenrir gets up.  He forces his brewing, twisting magic back down, not truly wanting to hurt the cub he raised all those years ago over something he couldn’t have known to be so important.

_If I had known what it meant, I would have told you, Father,_ Fenrir insists.

Loki makes himself take multiple deep breaths before speaking again. “I believe you.  It doesn’t matter anymore, anyways.” There’s an edge to his voice he’s unable to get rid of.

Fenrir steps forward to press his face into Loki’s chest. _I am sorry, Father._

Loki has to swallow around a lump that rises in his throat. “I know, Fenrir.  I apologize for losing my temper.”

Fenrir huffs, pressing even closer briefly before drawing back and looking to Thor. _Father was right.  You are a changed man._ There’s a pause before the wolf adds, _Uncle_.

Thor hesitates momentarily, then reaches out to run his fingers over Fenrir’s fur. “I shall endeavor to remain so, nephew.”

Loki jolts, never having heard Thor refer to Fenrir as that.  For all that Fenrir and Sleipnir call him father, no one else has ever really acknowledged that bond as they see it.  At least, nowhere that he could actually hear it.

Fenrir yawns, flashing his teeth lazily in the sunlight. _See to it that you do.  Father, I will go inform Nir of what happened.  If you need me, I will be remaining near the palace for a while._

“I’ll come find you if Evelyn arrives within the next few days,” Loki assures him, giving him one last pat before the wolf lopes off.  He watches him vanish around a turn, and only then does he let himself collapse again. “He _knew_ ,” he whispers brokenly, desperately wishing that he could just stop with all the emotions that just seem to keep assaulting him today.  He’s getting tired of thinking he’s fine, only for something else to turn up and bring his world crashing back down again. Without Evelyn here to help temper him, he’s not sure how much longer he can last if it keeps happening.

“Do you wish to be left alone, or do you want to be distracted?” Thor inquires, not even bothering to offer help with sorting out his emotions because they both know how _that_ would end(badly, so very badly).  At least now Thor asks what he wants to do, rather than just deciding for him.

“Distracted,” Loki states flatly, done with emotions for the time being.

“Very well.  If you’ll follow me?”

 

* * *

****

Sif is confused.

She’s not used to being confused.  At least, not about this. Not about Thor.

It’s been the talk of the city what happened last night.  Some powerful form of magic suddenly heavy in the air, and then Thor goes and blows up a whole wing of the palace.  She, along with Fandral, Hogun, and Volstagg, had immediately gone to arms, only to be turned away when they tried to entered the royal wing.  Like everyone else, they’d been told to come back in the morning, as the situation was under control at present.

So she’d left.  Begrudgingly, but she’d left.

And then, as suggested, she returns after waking at a more reasonable hour, only to be turned away again.  The Royal Family isn’t accepting any visitors, and it isn’t known when exactly they will be. So she goes to a training ring to work off some of her stress, not wanting to go all the way back home with nothing to show for her day.

When she no longer feels liable to punch one of the palace guards if given an unfavorable answer _again_ , she tries one more time to be granted entrance to the royal wing.  Now she’s informed that, while the King and Queen remain and require further privacy, the two Princes have since left.

“And do you know where Thor has gone?” she asks, the beginning of impatience starting to rise up.

“The palace gardens, Lady Sif,” the guard promptly replies.

Sif blinks.  The gardens? She can’t remember the last time Thor voluntarily entered the gardens.  That’s more Loki and Queen Frigga’s domain. “You are certain it was the gardens?”

“Yes, Lady Sif.  He was following after his brother.”

Ah, that makes more sense.  And, thankfully, this also means she knows which garden to go to.  For all his trickery and secrets, Loki does have a favorite.

“My thanks,” she says, then turns to march determinedly in the direction of said garden.  Blessedly, no one attempts to stop her. Unfortunately, when she arrives, there’s no one there.  Just a lingering smell of ozone and wolf. Gnashing her teeth together, she stalks through some of the nearby gardens in the hopes that maybe they’re in one of them.  No such luck.

“Lady Sif?”

It takes every measure of patience she can dredge up to keep from snapping at the guard who calls to her. “Yes?”

“Prince Thor and Prince Loki left for the eastern training grounds a few minutes before you arrived.”

Well, that explained why they hadn’t already run into each other.  She’d been at the western ones. However, the eastern training grounds are usually reserved for the training of powers and magicks, not the body.  Again, she can’t remember the last time Thor voluntarily went there. He’s been content with wielding his power through Mjolnir and not really attempting any further mastery.  She wonders if that’s changed. She also wonders if that has anything to do with him destroying his and Loki’s wing last night.

The smell of rain is rather heavy in the air as she approaches, which isn’t all that surprising given the lightning flashing through the gathering clouds.  She heads towards the one the lightning seems centered on, intent on giving Thor a piece of her mind and demanding an explanation for last night.

There’s a barrier up when she finally reaches the particular training ground.  Even with her rather limited knowledge of magicks she can tell the barrier is a masterful work of art.  She sees no sign of Thor, for all the lightning being thrown around, but a few moments after she arrives she sees Loki casually strolling in her direction.

“Loki!” she calls out, “have you—?”

He holds up a hand without even looking at her, and she falls silent, if only to gape at him.  That is _not_ something he’s done before.  Not to say he’s submissive to her(to any of them to follow Thor, really), because Loki is any but that, but he generally at least acknowledges her when they meet.  She’s never been dismissed right out of hand.

An energized hush falls over them right before the sky lights up again.  Lightning comes screaming down, striking at the sand covering the ground of the training field.  While Sif tenses for an attack, Loki isn’t fazed in the slightest. He even _tsks_ his tongue when the storm of frenzied lightning ceases.

“He’s going sluggish,” he mutters under his breath, absentmindedly waving a hand through the air.  Sif can’t help but gawk when the barrier comes shimmering down with nary a whisper to the winds. Usually there’s at least _some_ form of noise when Loki brings down his barriers, a small _pop_ if nothing else.  That had been completely and utterly silent.

Then Thor drops out of the sky, all windswept hair and laughing eyes and a proudly vicious smile on his lips, and Sif is staring again because for all the pride Thor is displaying, there’s hardly any arrogance where once he’d be practically swimming it.  A warm, unexpected kind of hope blooms in Sif’s chest. This. _This_ is the king she’s known has been buried under all Thor’s arrogance and swagger, if only he’d let himself be humbled enough to see it.  She doesn’t know what changed between yesterday and today, what made this a reality, but she is thankful for it nevertheless.

“How was that, brother?” her prince asks, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet in his excitement.  Sparks of lightning pop and fizzle in the air around him.

“Slow,” Loki drawls. “You know you can’t aim like you did with Mjolnir.  You muck it up every time you do.”

Sif is startled to realize that he is indeed missing Mjolnir.  It’s such an integral part of his image that she’s surprised she didn’t notice immediately.

Thor, however, throws his head back and laughs. “Then I suppose you will have fun devising target practice for me until you deem me sufficient.”

A small, knowing smile curls at Loki’s lips. “I will indeed.” There’s a great deal of self-satisfaction in his tone, along with a confidence that no longer seems tied to Thor’s approval.  Yet another thing Sif is surprisingly happy to see, for all that the current situation has her growing more and more confused with every passing second.

“Thor?” she calls out, loath though she is to break up the image of them getting along.  Of Thor actually _listening_ to someone besides himself.  Two sets of eyes turn to her, brimming with untold power, and she has to consciously make herself not take a step back.

“Hello Sif,” Thor says, voice low and lacking the usual booming power of thunder behind it. “What brings you here today?”

Before she can answer, Loki scoffs and rolls his eyes skyward. “You blew up our wing of the palace, you imbecile.  Why do you _think_ she sought you out?”

Thor blinks repeatedly, as if the thought hadn’t even occurred to him. “Ah.”

“Honestly,” Loki mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers. “If this is what your kingship is going to be like, Asgard is in for a long couple of centuries.”

Surprisingly, Thor pulls a face of disgust. “Are you certain—?”

Loki cuts him off with a flat, “Very.  I think I’ve demonstrated just how horrible an idea that is.”

“Mine wasn’t going to be much better.”

“Well, I have absolutely no desire for it anymore, so you're stuck with it.” He claps his hands together. “I shall leave you two be now.  Thor, feel free to explain what you wish to the lovely Sif as I have had quite enough of doing that myself for the time being. Should you need me, you know how to find me.” And then he just walks off, leaving Sif feeling even more confused.

“Is he well?” she asks before she can stop herself.

Thor snorts, but stares sadly after his brother. “Physically, he is fine.  We both are. However,” Here Thor sighs, shifting his weight from one foot to the other to face her more directly. “However, my brother was in a situation that forced him to use Soul Magic.”

“ _No,_ ” she breathes, horrified.  Skilled or knowledgeable in magicks she might not be, there is no one who doesn’t understand the price Soul or Death Magic demands or the toll it takes.  For Loki, of all people, to be _forced_ to use it is beyond anything Sif wants to imagine.

“Indeed,” Thor intones. “He used it, and now we are dealing with the after effects.” He smiles wryly at her. “It’s why I blew up our wing.”

She frowns. “Why _did_ you do that?  We tried entering the palace last night because of it, only to be turned away.”

“I have not used Mjolnir in over a year, nor have I been to Asgard in nearly four.” Thor shrugs as if he was simply commenting on the weather. “I reacted as if threatened, and Mjolnir couldn’t withstand the strain, so it broke.” He pauses almost hesitantly before adding, “Again.”

“You _broke_ Mjolnir?” she all but yelps.

His expression goes grim and Sif’s stomach rolls at the sight.  Never has she seen him like this, not a speck of cheer to be found. “Aye, I broke it.  I shall always be thankful that it was all I broke. I could have easily killed all those we were staying with, but Mjolnir took the brunt of my pain and anger, sparing us any further heartache.”

“You were there when Loki used Soul Magic,” she realizes, there being no other explanation for what he’s telling her.

“No, I was not,” Thor corrects her, completely throwing her. “By my brother’s reckoning, I have been dead three years to him.” Sif can’t quite help the wounded noise she makes in the back of her throat at the mere idea of Thor being dead. “We aren’t entirely sure why it is I remember at all.  If he’s to be believed, then it is because his wife’s luck is rather odd and it affected the Soul Magic as he cast the spell.” He tips his head to the side, staring beyond her. “I do recall Evelyn complaining about Potter Luck more than once, but never something of this magnitude.” He shrugs again. “In any event, I am pleased that I _do_ remember.  If only so my brother is not alone as he waits.”

“You died,” she repeats hoarsely, her mind stuck on that little fact.

“Once, but no more.” He fixes her with an understanding look. “Do not dwell on it.  It will only bring you pain if you do. It has no longer happened. I made my peace with it then.”

“But you—”

“Sif, I am _alive_ ,” he stresses. “Focus on that.”

She gulps in a desperate breath, willing her frantic heart to calm.  When she feels marginally more in control, she asks warily, “May I know how you died?”

Thor regards her solemnly for a long moment before stating, “I fell when Vanaheim collapsed.  I was holding open a Gate for others to get to safety. I chose to remain so that more might make it through rather than have their deaths on my conscious.”

Sif sways where she stands, not in any way prepared for that information. “And what caused Vanaheim to collapse?” she continues, already dreading the answer but something in her demanding to know, if only so she can do everything in her power to prevent it from happening again.

“The Realms were thrown out of alignment during the Convergence.  As far as I know, Loki and Evelyn were unable to discover a way to fix it, hence why my brother resorted to Soul Magic when Midgard and Niflheim were all that was left.”

That would indeed be a reason to use Soul Magic.

And that’s not something she is able to do anything about.

So she concentrates on breathing in and breathing out until she no longer feels like collapsing into a sobbing mess.  Mercifully, Thor lets her be, not saying anything else. She’s slightly afraid that if he does, she’ll be tipped over the edge, and that’s the last thing she wants.

“You are taking measures to ensure it does not happen again?” she wants to know.  Has to know. Has to be certain that she won’t lose her prince a second time, for all that she doesn’t remember the first.  Just the knowledge that it happened is enough to scare her.

“We will be,” Thor assures her. “For now, my brother is mostly concentrating on his wife and when she will arrive.  After she comes, he will no doubt throw himself headlong into that particular problem along with a few others.”

“And what, exactly, is more important than _that_?” She can’t help the sharpness in her question.  Her terror, while reduced, still lingers. She doesn’t even question the mention of Loki’s wife again, for all that she knows Sigyn is dead and has been for four centuries.  There’s no coming back for her.

“We have twenty years until the Convergence.  There is a madman out for Evelyn’s blood still alive,” Thor explains with a slightly chastising tone. “He is the reason she lost her parents when she was but a babe, and she is Hela’s Avatar.  Neither my brother or my niece will take kindly to his attempts to murder Evelyn again. It is better to deal with him first before that happens.”

Oh.

Thor’s not talking about Sigyn.

Loki found another woman.  A woman that his daughter apparently approves of.

Then something he says truly registers in her mind.

“What do you mean, attempts to murder her _again_?” she demands, hands tightening into fists as her temper begins to spike.

“Exactly as I said,” he replies with deceptive calmness. “He tried to kill her as a babe along with her parents but failed.  He will not rest until either she is dead or he is struck down.”

Sif inhales sharply through her nose.

That’s what she thought he meant.

Her mind is immediately made up.  She snaps her heels together and bows to her prince.

“While I might be of no help regarding the Convergence, know that my blade is yours for this.  Should you require it, I will guard her with my life.”

A grim smile spreads across Thor’s lips. “That is good to know, Sif.  I do believe you and her will get along quite well.”

She nods. “Then I look forward to meeting her.” Even if she wonders at the kind of woman who caught Loki’s eye this time.  Sigyn had been more of a traditional woman, unlike Sif. Still, if Thor thinks they will get along, she will believe him until proven otherwise.

“If Hela is to be believed, then you will be able to meet her soon.”


	6. Bastardized Soul Magic is a bitch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Warrior Potter?”
> 
> “You’ve had a Horcrux in your bank for at least ten years now,” she says hoarsely.
> 
> A moment of stunned silence hangs in the air before Barchoke erupts.
> 
> “WHAT?! You dare presume—!”
> 
> “I will swear it on my magic if that’s what it takes to make you believe me, but I know for a fact that there is one here, given that I stole it from its vault last time!” she shouts over him, slamming her hands onto his desk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for how long this last chapter took. I'm attempting to do a weekly update(because deadlines are good for you), but the middle of this chapter just didn't want to be written! On another note, I'm headed for Seattle on Thursday, so I don't know how much I'll manage to get written between now and then.
> 
> Giving a shout out to two different fanfics on fanfiction.net that have helped and influenced how I'm going to be handling the magical Houses. First, A Marauder's Plan by CatsAreCool, and secondly, Families and Familiars by Sherza. Go give those a read as as well, they're pretty good!
> 
> Also, a shout out to Harry Crow by robst from whom I got Account Manager Barchoke's name. I've read the fic too much to imagine the account manager with any other name.

Account Manager Barchoke’s office is just as she remembers.

The Potter Family crest is embedded into the wood of the door in bronze metal, the motto just below it on a banner in English, for all that is was originally Welsh.

_Honor, loyalty, pride_

In the middle of the crest is the Potter family animal; a rearing peryton with falcon wings spread wide.  Evelyn finds it a little funny, given that her father ended up being a stag animagus. She wonders how much of a laugh he had when he discovered that.  Something to possibly ask Sirius, once she figures out how to get him out of Azkaban.

Griphook knocks three times on the door before pushing it open. “ **Warrior Potter to meet with you, Account Manager,** ” he announces, then backs out and bows Evelyn. “ **Honor and glory to you, Warrior Potter.** ”

“ **Wealth and honor to you, Teller Griphook,** ” she returns, only dipping her head.  Inside the office, she sees Barchoke jolt at her obvious use of his native tongue.  She marches in, Dudley still silent at her heels. She stops at the appropriate distance from Barchoke’s death and bows, saying, “ **Wealth and honor to you, Account Manager Barchoke.** ” She straightens to continue. “ **My apologies for coming unannounced, but the trip was unexpected.** ”

Barchoke stares at her, pen held limply in his hand.  Then he seems to come back to himself, because he stands and bows back. “ **Honor and glory to you, Warrior Potter.** ”

“ **No disrespect intended, but may we continue in English?  My cousin does not know your language and he will need to understand some of what I wish to cover in our discussion.** ”

Barchoke clears his throat. “Of course.  I was unaware _you_ knew our language, Warrior Potter.”

She can’t help that a grin spreads across her lips at his obvious confusion. “I didn’t learn it until I was twenty, but having Soul Magic used on you tends to muck with personal timelines.”

He blinks. “You are the reason the bank’s alarms went off.”

“Guilty as charged.  King Ragnok took exception to the fact.  We sorted it out and now he’s having your Curse Breakers looking into making sure I don’t do that every time I want visit.  That’d be just a bit annoying for all of us.”

“Indeed.” He clears his throat again, then makes a gesture and two chairs appear in front of his desk. “Sit.  It appears we have much to discuss.”

Evelyn happily does so, motioning for Dudley to do the same.  He gingerly sinks into the chair, eyeing Barchoke warily. “I suppose I ought to do introductions, as you both already know who I am.  Dudley, this is Account Manager Barchoke. He’s in charge of House Potter’s vaults. Account Manager Barchoke, this is my cousin Dudley Vernon Dursley.  His mother and mine were sisters.”

Barchoke nods. “A Miss Petunia Evans, if I recall correctly.”

“Yeah, that’s my mum,” Dudley says. “How’d you know that?”

“I assume my mum mentioned her once or twice?” Evelyn inquires, looking expectantly at Barchoke.

“She did, although it was more because she wanted to make sure you, Warrior Potter, never ended up in her sister’s care.  The late Lady Potter was rather adamant on that fact.” The goblin frowns. “Yet, you come to me with your cousin by your side.”

“Yeah, my so called Magical Guardian decided to tweak the protection spell my mother cast when she saved me and anchored it around my aunt’s house.  Couldn’t put me anywhere else, according to him.” Her smile turns grim. “I know that’s why he blocked having my parents’ final Will read.”

Barchoke’s expression goes murderous. “Does the old fool understand _nothing?_ ” he seethes. “Tampering with already cast blood magic is dangerous even for someone of the bloodline!  He could have easily killed both you and himself!”

Evelyn sighs, propping her elbow on the arm of the chair and resting her chin on the palm of her hand. “He meant well, for all that he’s rather more uninformed than he believes himself to be.  The way he worked his additions in made it so that no followers of Riddle could approach the house, thus supposedly ensuring my safety.”

“Riddle?”

“Ah, I forgot it’s not common knowledge yet.” She bares her teeth in a parody of a smile. “Dark Lord Voldemort was born as the half-blood Tom Marvolo Riddle to a Squib mother and muggle father.  I rather enjoyed throwing that in his face every time we met. He was Heir Slytherin as well, for all that he truly squandered away _that_ particular asset.”

There’s a sharp _crack_ as the pen Barchoke had been holding snaps in two. “What, _exactly_ , do you mean by throwing that in his face every time you met?” he demands. “The dark one is gone.  Because of your mother’s sacrifice, he was defeated.”

“Key word, _defeated_ ,” Evelyn points out. “Not killed, _defeated_.  Dumbledore’s a rather good master at word play, given that he used it on himself.  He’s the Defeater of Grindelwald, hence the locking him up in Nurmengard instead of killing him off.  Riddle, the bloody bastard, used—”

She chokes on her next words.

Horcruxes are most definitely Soul Magic, but there’s been one sitting in a vault for years now.  Not to mention, she managed to walk in multiple times with one lodged in her forehead without setting off the alarms.  How any of that’s possible, she has no bloody clue.

“Warrior Potter?”

“You’ve had a Horcrux in your bank for at least ten years now,” she says hoarsely.

A moment of stunned silence hangs in the air before Barchoke erupts.

“ ** _WHAT?!_ ** **You dare presume—!** ”

“ **I will swear it on my magic if that’s what it takes to make you believe me, but I know for a fact that there is one here, given that I stole it from its vault last time!** ” she shouts over him, slamming her hands onto his desk.

This, of course, is not taken well by Barchoke.  He hadn’t really taken it well the last time either, but then at least he’d understood the terror Riddle had been inspiring and the strangle hold the bloody bastard had had on the country. “ **You** **_stole_** **—** ”

“ **Yes I stole something from Gringotts!  That dragon-shite excuse of a wizard had taken over the Ministry and had guards posted all over the bank!  Forgive me for not asking nicely if I could just waltz in and take a piece of his fucking soul with me! Furthermore, your shit wards apparently couldn’t even detect that I had another piece of his soul lodged in my forehead and I visited** **_multiple_ ** **times!  Explain that to me, you bastard!** ” She stands there panting heavily after finishing her tirade, glaring at him while daring him to make any sort of counter.  She’s already done this with him, so she’s fairly certain she can best anything he tries.

“ **Which vault?** ” Barchoke bites out through clenched teeth.

Evelyn grins viciously. “ **Oh, this is actually something I can help with.** ” She draws herself upright and loosens the hold she’s been keeping on her magic as a courtesy.  This is one of those times the paranoia of House Black is actually helpful. “As Heiress Presumptive Evelyn Rosalie of House Black, I demand payment from House Lestrange for allowing Lady Bellatrix Druella of House Lestrange, formerly of House Black, to pledge her life and soul to someone other than Lord Black.” Snapping her fingers, a replica of Helga Hufflepuff’s cup appears on his desk. “Take only this and I will consider the payment from House Lestrange to House Black at least partially paid.  As I say, so mote it be.” The oath snaps into place and her magic pulses with dark satisfaction, as pleased as she is. “A soul for a soul. Rather poetic, actually.”

“If you are lying…” Barchoke trails off, apparently unable to come up with a suitable threat.

“And what, exactly, would I gain by lying about this?” she asks, settling back down in her chair. “The last thing I want is to be on Gringotts’ bad side.  Did that once already, would rather not repeat the experience.” A glance to her right shows Dudley pale white, wide eyes darting nervously between her and Barchoke.  She’d gotten so sucked up in her argument with Barchoke that she’d forgotten that he wouldn’t have a clue what they were going on about, only that they were shouting rather heatedly back and forth. “Sorry, Dud.  I really didn’t mean to subject you to all that.”

He startles violently at suddenly being addressed. “We’re not going to get kicked out?” he squeaks, hurriedly clearing his throat right afterwards as his cheeks flush red.

“No, we’re not,” she assures him. “Just having a discussion about other soul pieces that bastard Riddle hid away, specifically the one here at the bank.”

“Some discussion,” he mumbles back, tugging absentmindedly at the hem of his shirt.

“It’s Soul Magic, cousin,” she says. “It’s Soul Magic and that piece never once set off the bank’s alarms.  Nor did the one I had in my forehead, for that matter.”

Dudley shudders. “I’d really rather forget about that one, thanks.”

“You have one in your _forehead?_ ” Barchoke demands.

Evelyn waves a hand through the air. “Don’t worry about that one.  It’s been taken care of.”

Barchoke stands up, expression torn between thunderous and horrified. “You do not simply _take care_ of a Horcrux in a living vessel, you need to be seen by our Healers—”

“Account Manager Barchoke,” she cuts him off, “believe me when I say that it has been dealt with.  Again, I will swear on my magic if that’s what it’ll take to get you to believe it, but that piece of Riddle’s soul is far beyond his reach.” She fixes him with a flat look. “Or is the fact that it’s in Lady Hela’s possession not good enough for you?”

He abruptly sits back down. “Lady Hela?”

“Of Helheim,” she adds blandly. “I’m her Avatar here on Midgard, so it makes sense that she wouldn’t want a piece of a murderer’s soul stuck in my forehead.”

“Wait, so that winged woman from last night worked for Hela?” Dudley asks, his voice only slightly catching on Hela’s name.

Evelyn scowls, disliking the unknown woman for all that she instinctively trusted her the night before.  That instinctive trust, whenever it happens, puts her on edge until she figures out _why_ she trusts the person.  Unfortunately, she doesn’t think she’ll be getting an answer to that any time soon. “I assume so.  Her magic felt familiar for all that I’ve never seen her before in my life. Hela never mentioned having any Valkyrie working for her before, but what do I know?  We never really talked anyways. She just grabbed me and dumped me into her father’s lap. I only ever saw her sparingly after that, and it was always on her terms.”

The clearing of a throat draws her attention back to Barchoke.

“Warrior Potter, I give you my word that we will discuss whatever it is you wish to discuss before you leave today, but first—”

“You’d like to do something about the Horcrux?” she finishes for him with a knowing expression.  She doesn’t exactly blame him. She’d practically begged for the one in her forehead to be removed, after all.

“Indeed.  To know we have such vileness here?” Barchoke shudders. “If you would be willing to accompany me to the Lestrange Vault, I imagine the process will go much more swiftly than if I went by myself.”

“It would give me great pleasure to see that filthy piece of shit dealt with,” she says, sliding gracefully out of her chair. “Dudley, do you want to come with or wait here?  We shouldn’t be too long either way.”

“If it’s all the same to you, I’d _really_ rather stay here,” Dudley answers. “Excitement seems to follow you everywhere and I’d like to avoid anymore, thanks.”

Evelyn can’t help throwing her head back and laughing. “I hate break it to you, cousin, but these past two days have been rather mild, considering what I grew up with and experienced later in life.”

He scowls at her. “That’s something I could’ve gladly gone without knowing, Eve.”

“It’s something you’ll have to learn to deal with if you plan on sticking around!” she sings before following Barchoke out of his office.  She lets the silence that falls over them settle, not wanting to intrude on any thoughts Barchoke is trying to process. She _has_ , unintentional though it was, heaped a bunch onto his plate rather abruptly.  Best to let him deal with at his own pace.

However, he did stop them briefly when they crossed paths with some guards.

“ **Have King Ragnok and Account Manager Bogrod meet us at Vault 238 without delay,** ” he instructs. “ **Along with any high level Curse Breakers King Ragnok deems necessary given the magicks Warrior Potter has.** ”

“ **At once, Account Manager Barchoke.** ” They both bow to him, then bow to her. “ **Warrior Potter.** ” And with that, they turn and jog off to other parts of the bank while she and Barchoke make for the mine carts.

“Oh bother, we’re going to go under that stupid waterfall, aren’t we?” she grumbles under her breath.  She only just remembered the waterfall they’d had to go through to get to the Lestrange vault. The bloody thing had nearly undone all their hard work to get into Gringotts in the first place!

“I take it you’re acquainted with Thief’s Downfall?” Barchoke inquires as he queues up a cart.

“We had to ride the dragon you’ve got by the Lestrange vault to get out of the bank,” she returns blandly, easily maneuvering herself into one of the seats. “Caused a bit of an uproar, mind you, but we needed a quick out.”

Barchoke pauses as he makes to follow her into the cart. “You rode—?” He shakes his head. “And we still let you back in?”

Evelyn snorts, giving him a wry smile while he settles into the seat beside the controls. “Believe me, I was just as surprised.  Of course, I ended up giving all the remaining contents of the Lestrange vault over to Gringotts as payment for the damages we’d done.” The cart starts moving and Evelyn’s smile becomes rather vicious. “Handy thing, pureblood marriage contracts.  Everything House Lestrange owned became the property of House Black because Lord Lestrange failed in his duties regarding both Lady Lestrange as a Black bride, and House Black as a whole. Primacy and House Black’s ingrained superiority are wonderful, useful things.  Of course, I almost wished the bloody bastards had still been alive for me to cast House Judgement on them by the time I finally got around to learning my duties as Lady Potter and Lady Black, but House Longbottom was satisfied with their manner of deaths. I settled the debt of honor House Lestrange made between House Black and House Longbottom another way.” Here she pauses in her chattering to scowl at the rapidly approaching waterfall. “If this thing sets off any sort of alarm because of me, I’m going to be so bloody _pissed_.”

Barchoke gets no time to respond to her comment before they’re dunked under the water.  They’re out from under it just as quickly, and Evelyn has to resist the urge to shake her head like a dog from all the water now in her hair.  She does wipe a hand over her face to get the excess water off, grimacing at the feel of wet clothes now on her. Thankfully, this time the cart doesn’t slow to a stop, sound an alarm, and proceed to dump them off the tracks.

Small mercies.

“Well, that was as unpleasant as I remembered,” she mutters, debating whether or not to either try and squeeze out some of the water in her clothes, or attempt a warming charm and pray it doesn’t backfire on her.  Instead, the seat under her warms unexpectedly and abruptly she’s dry all over. She blinks once, twice, then just decides to go with it. She’s seen and experienced far weirder things.

When they finally pull up at a familiar platform, Ragnok is already waiting there with three other goblins. “ **You’d better have a good reason for calling all of us here, Barchoke,** ” he warns, a hand resting lightly on the pommel of his sword.

Evelyn answers before Barchoke can, pointing a finger towards the dragon and the vault. “ **There is a Horcrux in that vault that’s been there for ten years at least,** ” she states bluntly, ignoring the way the unknown goblins almost jump at her usage of their language. “ **Given that Horcruxes are most definitely Soul Magic, yet it has not set off any alarms, we figured it prudent to deal with it now rather than wait for a more convenient time.** ” She holds up her other hand to stop the eruption she already knows is coming. “ **Yes, I am certain of this.  I am here to claim it as Heiress Presumptive of House Black, where I will then turn it over to you for disposal.  Magic has agreed. Do you?** ”

A relative silence descends, the usual noises of the bank above them echoing through the caverns.  Ragnok and Barchoke look reasonably calm; Barchoke because he’s already heard it, and Ragnok probably because he knows she’s had Soul Magic used on her.  The other goblins look torn between horror at the idea of a Horcrux in their bank and indignation at an unknown witch speaking their native tongue.

“ **There will be consequences if you are wrong, Warrior Potter,** ” Ragnok warns, causing the goblins beside him to stare at him with wide eyes.

Evelyn bares her teeth. “ **Oh believe me, I am well aware of that.  In any event, you won’t know if I’m right or wrong until we go retrieve the cup.  Shall we?** ”

 

* * *

 

Dudley is starting to get a little worried about how long the retrieval is taking when the door to the office slams open again and Evelyn stumbles back in supported between who he thinks are her account manager and the goblin king himself.  She, honest to God, looks a little green in the face. She drops heavily into the chair she’d sat in previously, one hand pressed to her lips and the other coming to rest over her stomach.

Her account manager immediately goes to his desk, pulling out a vial filled with a bright blue liquid that he hands to her. “Here, drink this.” She downs it without hesitation, although she pulls a truly disgusted looking face afterwards. “My apologies for the delay, Mr. Dursley, but we ran into a bit of a…situation.”

“A situation, he calls it,” Evelyn grumbles, appearing only mildly better.  She tips her head back and proceeds to spew out every curse under the sun, slipping into languages Dudley only barely recognizes and some he doesn’t, before summing it up with, “Bloody fucking _Horcruxes_."

Dudley blinks at her, then hesitantly asks, “Did something happen?” He asks even though he knows something most certainly did happen, what with the state his cousin is in.  Apparently, excitement found them again.

“Ha!” Evelyn barks out bitterly. “We found out that while Horcruxes are definitely Soul Magic, they’re actually a truly nasty bastardized form of it.  Hence why no alarms were ever set off. And joy of joys, when the bastardized version comes close to whole Soul Magic, the person with the whole Soul Magic in them is so revolted by the vileness of the bastardized version that they proceed to be violently ill so long as their magic can feel it nearby.”

Dudley winces.  He vividly remembers that Evelyn is not the best of patients while sick.  He thinks it’s a combination of her sheer stubbornness coupled with the fact that she was training to be a wizard doctor as well.  And everyone knows that doctors are the worst sort of patients. “Did you at least manage to get the Horcrux thingy out of the vault?”

“We did indeed, and my Curse Breakers are working to both extract the soul piece and change our wards to prevent something like this from happening again,” King Ragnok intones.  Then he slips into the nonsense language all goblins and Evelyn seem to know. His cousin smiles back weakly, replying in the same tongue. The king then turns to her account manager, barking something out.  Barchoke responds by bowing and murmuring something back. The king nods decisively before turning on his heel and marching out of the office.

Evelyn groans softly, scrubbing a hand over her face. “I would give up all the gold in every single one of my vaults to never have to experience that again.  Stars, that was awful.”

“Warrior Potter, do you still feel up to discussing what you wish to be prepared for our meeting on July 31?” Barchoke inquires.

“Yeah, I think I can manage that so long as we don’t attempt to go too in depth,” she says. “I’ll probably eat and immediately collapse once we get back to our room, though, so fair warning Dud.”

He shrugs. “So long as I don’t have to carry you, I’m good with that.”

“Right, first thing’s first.” Evelyn shifts so she’s facing Barchoke head on. “I’ll need paperwork to transfer control of Vault 964 over to Dudley, as well as paperwork to make him a ward of House Potter.  If I have to end up transfering all of the money over to a Muggle bank, then so be it, but he gets everything in that vault. I think Mum would approve.”

“Wait, what?” Dudley yelps, realizing that Evelyn is talking about giving him money, and it’s probably a lot. “Eve, you—”

“Dudley, you’re an Evans as much as you’re a Dursley,” she cuts him off. “All the money in Vault 964 is money that my mum earned.  I think she’d like the fact that it’s going to help her nephew piss off her sister. I’m not going to budge, so don’t even bother trying.”

He scowls at her. “And that making me a ward of House Potter?”

“I’d make you a member, but too many people would raise a stink about you being Heir Potter without having any Potter blood, so we’re just not going to go down that path.  However, making you my ward means I am legally and magically obligated to provide housing and schooling for you until adulthood. Also means I can shut up any old timers who object to my helping out a Muggle so much by pointing out that if they want me to follow the old ways so much, then they can’t protest my caring for someone under my protection.” She sniffs haughty. “You left your home for me, cousin mine.  Don’t think I won’t repay that.”

“I’m not going to be able to change your mind on that either, am I?”

She smirks at him, and he has to resist the urge to gulp. “You’re welcome to try.  You have until my birthday to convince me otherwise.”

Yeah, no, he’s not stupid.  Guess that means he has until her birthday to get used to the idea.  He’s very much aware that once she’s set her mind to something, he is not one of the few people capable of making her change it.

“Secondly, Barchoke, I need a letter of invitation for Remus John Lupin drafted inviting him to the bank on July 31, but for you to wait to send it until a week before.  If you get a positive reply, then I’m going to need paperwork ready to make Remus Head Retainer and Steward of House Potter. I’ll convince the stupid wolf to say yes somehow.  I have a month to figure it out. Oh! Also figure out a way to set up a lifetime payment plan of the Wolfsbane Potion for him. That will be activated regardless of whether or not he agrees to be my steward.

“Thirdly, I need you to start looking into how we can go about getting my godfather, Sirius Black, out of Azkaban.  He’s not had a trial, but he’s been in there for ten years regardless, and I would really rather he didn’t stay there any longer.” Evelyn falls silent then, lips pursed.

Barchoke nods, shuffling a few papers around. “I shall endeavour to have everything ready when you return, Warrior Potter.  Should you think of anything else you require done, just contact the bank via owl.”

Evelyn huffs out a breath. “Probably for the best, I’m fading faster than I thought I would.”

“You were supposed to take it easy today,” Dudley reminds her.

“Hence why we’re going to head back before I decide to sleep the rest of the day away in this chair,” she grumbles. “Barchoke, do I need to stay any longer?  King Ragnok said something about having the Curse Breakers making sure the alarms to go blaring every time I try to visit, but I’m afraid I might actually fall asleep if I have to wait any longer.”

“I believe, Warrior Potter, that you leaving without informing King Ragnok can be forgiven this once,” Barchoke says almost kindly. “He is aware of the strain placed on you today, and while we might be a warrior race, we are not unfeeling.  I will inform him myself of your departure and reasons. I merely request you send an owl before you approach the bank again so we might be prepared for your arrival.”

“Thank you,” she breathes, slumping slightly before perking back up. “Oh!  Can I withdraw anything from my trust vault right now?”

Barchoke fixes her with a look. “Within reason.”

“I just want enough money to be able to pay for another week at the Leaky Cauldron for safety’s sake.”

“That I can certainly authorize.” He reaches into a drawer and pulls out a drawstring bag. “That should cover any expenses.”

Evelyn speaks in that weird language again, inclining her head respectfully to Barchoke who responds in kind.  Then she slides out of her chair, grabs the bag, and finally turns to face him. “Come on, Dud, I’m exhausted and I wasn’t kidding about falling asleep in that chair.  Should also see if I can manage to eat something before I sleep for the rest of the day for all that my stomach isn’t too keen on the idea.”

“Alright, alright.  Goodbye Mr Barchoke.” Without thinking, he offers his hand for the goblin to shake.  To his credit, Barchoke only stares for a moment before taking it.

“Goodbye to you as well, Mr Dursley.  Do look after our Warrior Potter, will you?”

“As much as I can, anyways.” Then, before he can lose his nerve, he turns smartly on his heel and follows Evelyn out of the office and out of the bank.


	7. Home is where the heart is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Well, fuck.”
> 
> Dudley’s head immediately snaps up. “What? What’s wrong?”
> 
> “Congratulations, Dudley, you’re a wizard,” she drawls sarcastically
> 
> There’s a beat of silence and then, “WHAT?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote half of this on the plane, the other half looking over a lovely lake. Enjoy!

“Eve!”

The sound of Dudley calling her name while poking her once in the side draws Evelyn from the dream she’s been floating in, but doesn’t fully wake her up.  She’s too busy enjoying the fact that her magic isn’t screaming at her about danger everywhere to even start to consider moving unless she has to.

Of course, then Dudley prods her again and says, “Eve, get up!” in just a frantic enough tone that she’s bolting upright before she even registers moving.  Battle time instincts suck when you’re trying to sleep in.

She blinks rapidly, hands poised to deal with whatever threat has her cousin so worried, only to find absolutely nothing out of place. “ _Dudley Vernon Dursley_ ,” she snarls, not at all pleased to be woken up like that when there’s no threat.

Surprisingly, he’s not affected by her tone’s promise of pain.  Instead, he just points to the table the elf had left in their room yesterday. “Something’s wrong!” he insists.

Evelyn shoots him a incredulous look that he doesn’t see, but makes her feel better, before glancing back at the table.  There are two envelopes sitting one on top of the other, along with a package wrapped in twine. “We got letters,” she deadpans, briefly contemplating hitting her cousin with a muffling Charm and trying to get some more sleep even though she knows it’s a lost cause.  She’s awake, for better or for worse.

“Eve, one’s from _Hogwarts_ ,” Dudley stresses, gesturing wildly.

She rubs tiredly at one of her eyes, adrenaline fading with no threat. “And is that supposed to mean something to me?  Maybe they just sent mine earlier this time.”

“It’s addressed to _me!_ ” he yelps.

 _That_ gets her attention.  Her gaze snaps back to the letters, and she can vaguely make out the familiar handwriting that all Hogwarts letters sport on one.  Slipping off the bed, she pads over to be able to look closer. Sure enough, it’s addressed like a Hogwarts letter as well.

_Mr D. Dursley_

_Bed By the Window_

_Room 319 Leaky Cauldron_

_Charing Cross Road_

_London_

When she flips it over, the school’s crest is proudly stamped onto the envelope.

“Bloody hell,” she mutters.

“What did you _do?_ ” Dudley hisses, apparently having decided not to leave the relative safety of the bed.

“And what, exactly, do you think I _can_ do?” she demands, waving the letter at him threateningly. “I’m not bloody in charge of deciding who gets invited to Hogwarts or not!”

“Well I didn’t get one of those letters last time!” he protests, “And you already mucked other things up, so why not this too?”

“I think I’d remember you being at Hogwarts with me, thanks,” she throws back indignantly, “and I haven’t mucked anything up!” She pauses and reconsiders that statement. “Okay, I’ve mucked with quite a few things.  However! _This_ —” She waves the letter again, “—this is beyond anything I’m capable of.  I can’t just bloody give someone magic, and last I checked, cousin, you can’t do magic.”

“On that, we’re in agreement,” he grumbles.

Evelyn huffs, but looks down at the letter again. “Well, I guess we’ll just have to check, then,” she sighs, recalling the time Loki tested all the members of their team for magical potential.  He’d lit a magical flame and passed it to each teammate before cutting off the flow of his magic to it. She, Natasha, Wanda, and surprisingly Tony had managed to keep their flames going. Unfortunately, there hadn’t been any time for Tony to learn anything useful before he’d died.  She’d still had Loki teach her the spell, if only so she could say she could do it too.

“And how, exactly, do you plan to do that?”

A snap of her fingers has that same flame dancing in the palm of her hand. “I’m going to give you this and we’ll see what happens.”

Dudley looks at her like she’s nuts. “Eve, that’s _fire_.”

She just smirks right back. “Dudley, it’s _magical_ fire.  It won’t hurt you, trust me.”

He stares at her for a long moment. “I feel like that’s the source of half my problems, me trusting you.” Regardless, he holds out a hand for all that he looks like he’d rather not.

Instead of teasing him, Evelyn gently passes over the flame.  Dudley’s eyes go wide as it licks harmlessly at his fingers. While he’s focused on it, Evelyn cuts off her flow of magic.  The flame stutters briefly, but then continues to flicker away merrily in the palm of Dudley’s hand.

“Well, fuck.”

Dudley’s head immediately snaps up. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Congratulations, Dudley, you’re a wizard,” she drawls sarcastically

There’s a beat of silence and then, “ _WHAT?!_ ” The flame sputters out now that his attention is no longer on it.

“Like hell if I know!” She throws her hands up in the air. “You kept the flame going all by yourself, so congrats, you have magic.” Unlike with Tony and Natasha, though, his flame had remained strong and steady.  Theirs had reduced dramatically in size, letting Evelyn and Loki know that while they _did_ have magic, it wasn’t much.  Most likely only enough to do simple spells and brew potions. “I guess you get to come to Hogwarts with me this time.” She sighs, raking a hand through her hair. “Well, at least now I won’t have to transfer all your money over to a Muggle bank.  I’ll just make that vault your trust vault.”

“Eve!”

“Of course, you could also go to either Ilvermorny or Beauxbatons, but you’d have to learn French for Beauxbatons and two months is _not_ enough time to learn a new language,” she continues. “So it’s either Hogwarts of Ilvermorny, then.”

“Who says I’m even going to a bloody magical school?” Dudley demands.

Evelyn blinks, then fixes Dudley with a stern look. “You’re going.  Leaving your magic untrained is dangerous to both you and the rest of the world.  You saw what I did to Marge because she got me angry. That was with only two years of training behind me.  I could’ve blown apart the entire block had I been passed my majority and she’d gotten me angry enough.”

Dudley’s face goes pale white. “Good God,” he whispers.  Evelyn’s fairly certain if he wasn’t still on the bed he’d be abruptly sitting down in one of the chairs.

“While I doubt you’d be able to manage something of that magnitude, even after your majority, the warning is still important.  Either you go to a wizarding school or we look into having your magic bound.” She holds up a hand before Dudley can go with that option. “I’ve been told it’s a very unpleasant sensation to have it bound.  Don’t go immediately say yes without learning anything else.”

“It’s weird hearing you sound so grown up when you’re so little,” he mutters mulishly, crossing his arms and glaring at her.

Evelyn cocks an eyebrow back. “Well, it’s just as weird for me hearing you sound pleasant and nice when you’re so _wide_.”

“Buggering shite, I’m going to have to work off all this extra bloody fat _again_ ,” Dudley grouces, looking very put out with the idea.

“We’ll work on getting healthier again together, cousin,” Evelyn assures him, already knowing she’s going to absolutely hate whatever training regiment Loki will come up with to get her back into shape.  Oh, it will work wonders for her, but she’ll be cursing every deity she knows while doing it. “Now take your stupid Hogwarts letter and actually look at it. I promise it won’t bite.” She thrusts it into his hands and lets go before he can shove it back her.  Leaving her cousin sputtering at her, she turns back to the table and the remaining letter, deciding to deal with the package after that. On the envelope, her name is written out in very sophisticated looking handwriting that she doesn’t recognize.

_Evelyn Rosalie Potter_

“Well that tells me next to nothing,” she mumbles to herself, flipping the envelope over and finding no further hints as to what might be inside.  She slides a finger under the flap and rips the letter open. It’s not a long letter, but she does recognize the signature at the bottom.

 

_Evelyn,_

_While there is much more you might be able to accomplish by remaining on Midgard for longer, my father is most anxious in his waiting for your arrival on Asgard.  Meet me at Stonehenge with your cousin at noon and I will transport the two of you to Asgard myself. Heimdall has been warned we are not coming via the Bifrost. I also took the liberty of having my Valkyrie provide clothing for the both of you more befitting Asgardian styles.  The cloaks you received yesterday will serve to cover you until you arrive._

_Hela_

 

“I _knew_ she was a Valkyrie!” Evelyn hisses triumphantly.  That still doesn’t explain why she immediately trusted the woman, but it’s nice to know she was right about that particular fact.  Maybe because their magic was similar? Evelyn mentally waves the thought away, no time really to dwell on it right now.

“What are you going on about?” Dudley asks.

“That woman from two nights ago?  She _is_ a Valkyrie!” she exclaims, waving her letter happily. “Hela confirmed my suspicion.”

Dudley blinks at her. “Hela?  You got a letter from _Hela_?”

Evelyn rolls her eyes right back at him “I’m her Avatar, Dud, of course she’s going to communicate with me.  I much prefer a letter to her randomly grabbing me and dumping me places. At least a letter might have a warning about what she’s going to want me to do or what she’s going to do to me.  Speaking of.” She points to the package. “Apparently we’re to get ourselves to Stonehenge by noon, so we’ve been given clothing so we don’t stick out when we get to Asgard.”

“Wait, what?  Who said anything about going Asgard today?” Dudley protests.

“Hela has,” Evelyn returns a touch dryly. “Hence the letter.  Unless you’d rather not go along with a request from the Goddess of Death?”

“Why’d she even _mention_ me?” he whines, “I’m not anyone important.”

Evelyn shrugs. “My best guess, and it’s a guess mind you, is that because you’re with me, she’s just being courteous and not making me abandon you here for however long I end up staying in Asgard.  I’ll be coming back before the summer’s over for school supplies and to square things away with the bank once I’m able, but I’ve no idea when exactly Loki will be willing to let me go to do that.” In all honesty, she knows he’s probably going to tag along with her for all of it.  She can’t imagine that he’ll be willing to let her out of his sight very much these next few months.

“Great,” he mutters, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Great, fantastic.”

“If you really don’t want to come with, I can see if I can work something out so you have a room here for the summer,” she offers.

He sighs heavily. “No, no I’ll come with.  Just thought I’d have more than a single bloody day to try and wrap my head around the fact that you apparently married _Loki_.  I’ll make due, don’t worry.”

 

* * *

 

They end up taking the Knight Bus to Stonehenge, as they don't have any British pounds between the two of them, but Evelyn does have the wizarding money that was going to be for booking their room longer.  Also, the two hour trip is cut down to an hour because magical transportation doesn’t have to follow Muggle road laws. They do take Hela’s advice of wearing their cloaks, as Evelyn realized that their clothing would be weird even by wizarding standards, and the last thing either of them wants to do is draw attention to themselves.  Well, anymore attention than asking to be dropped off at Stonehenge has.

Despite it rapidly approaching noon, the stones are still shrouded in mist and the crowds relatively thin.  Evelyn starts looking for golden hair, figuring Hela will have her skeletal half spelled not to show. A pulse of magic ripples through the air, immediately catching her attention.

“This way.” She grabs ahold of Dudley’s hand and proceeds to drag him off in the direction she felt the magic come from.  Sure enough, Hela’s hair is completely golden. Evelyn stops them a few feet away and bows. “Lady Hela.”

“Hello, Avatar mine,” the Goddess of Death returns. “Are you ready to depart?”

“As we’ll ever be,” Evelyn replies, squeezing Dudley’s hand reassuringly when he presses closer to her.

“Then let us be off.” Hela holds out a hand, which Evelyn takes.  It feels like her skeletal one, for all that it appears covered in flesh. “Walk with me and do not stray off the path.” When Hela takes that first step forward, Evelyn follows and the world melts away around them.  Unlike how Loki and Thor described traveling via the Bifrost, it’s what Evelyn remembers as Loki took them between Realms. Pressing darkness all around save for the illuminated pathway they walk on. The muffling silence is just as disconcerting.

“Just focus on the path, Dudley,” Evelyn murmurs as he has her hand nearly in a death grip.  A muffled whimper is his only reply. She dearly hopes he doesn’t stare too long out into the darkness, but she doesn’t dare turn around to check.  She mentally kicks herself for not having prepared him for this, but she’d honestly forgotten.

Thankfully, the darkness is banished away as they step out onto a golden floor.  Evelyn lets go of Hela’s hand but doesn’t make Dudley do the same. She does glance back briefly to check on him, but she’s pretty sure the shell shock is from seeing Asgard for the first time, not the pathway.

“Princess, welcome back to Asgard,” a deep voice intones, drawing Evelyn attention.  Standing up on a circular dias right next to a sword stuck in a pedestal is a tall, dark skinned man.  He’s wearing golden armor and is smiling at Hela.

“It is good to be back, Heimdall,” Hela replies as her enchantment fades away, revealing her usual state of half human, half skeleton. “Has my Valkyrie arrived yet?”

“She is approaching now, but perhaps you will introduce me to your companions as we wait?” Heimdall requests with a raised eyebrow.

Hela throws her head back and laughs. “As if you need introductions, Heimdall!  However, I’ll gladly indulge you. May I present my Avatar and my father’s wife, Lady Evelyn Rosalie of House Potter, House Black, House Gryffindor, and House Slytherin.  She is accompanied by her cousin Dudley Vernon Dursley. Evelyn, this is Lord Heimdall Tyrson, Guardian of the Bifrost, Gatekeeper of Asgard, and Watcher of the Worlds.”

“Hmm, so you are the one who caused so much chaos at the palace without even needing to be here,” Heimdall muses, fixing Evelyn with a knowing look.

Evelyn can’t help her cheeks flushing.  Whoops. “Potter Luck is known to be rather eccentric, but I’d honestly hoped Loki had been spared it.  I guess not.”

“Indeed.  However, I look forward to the changes you will bring to Asgard and her Royal Family.”

Well, no pressure there.  Although, she doesn’t quite understand what he means by that last statement.  It’s not like she can easily teach Thor to be humble again. It took him falling in love with a mortal woman last time for that to happen.  Although, maybe if she knocks him flat on his ass enough times…

“Ah, there they are!” Hela exclaims happily.  Walking into what Evelyn’s pretty sure is the Observatory are the winged woman from two nights previous, a dark grey eight-legged horse that’s back is higher than her measly 140 cm, and a wolf about the size of the horse.

Sleipnir and Fenrir.

Loki’s other children in all but blood.

Sleipnir goes to Hela for attention, but Fenrir prowls up to her.

 _You think yourself worthy to be the mate of my father?_ a male voice rumbles inside her head while Fenrir growls low in his chest. _Even if Sister Hela has chosen you as her Avatar, that does not give you the right to lie in my father’s bed._

Evelyn draws in a steadying breathe before levelly meeting Fenrir’s gaze.  Behind her, Dudley makes a frightened noise and she can feel him press up against her back, but she has to ignore him in favor of the wolf. “I do not worry over my worth.  Despite all that has happened to us and to him, he chooses me still. Do you not trust your father’s judgement?”

 _There have been many who would use him simply in an attempt to gain favor with the other Royals,_ Fenrir snarls, baring his teeth. _Who is to say that you will not do the same?_

“And yet there are those back on Midgard who would do the same to me,” she snaps back, heedless of their audience. “When I met your father, wolf, he had _nothing_.  I watched him fall further than I believed possible before I finally reached him and was able to pull him back up.  Do _not_ presume to know our story before you judge me.  I have faced down the madman who murdered my parents and stood defiantly against the Dark Elves as the Realms fell to pieces around me.  There is _nothing_ in all the Realms save death that could keep me from his side!”

She lets out an undignified yelp as Fenrir proceeds to lick her face.

 _You will do quite nicely,_ the wolf pronounces. _I like you better than Sigyn._

“Joy,” she mutters, fighting off the urge to try and wipe away the slobber left on her face.  She realizes she’ll do nothing more than just smear it around.

Sleipnir approaches now, shaking his head. _Fen, you left her all wet._

Hela chuckles and waves a hand in Evelyn’s direction, cleaning off the slobber. “Does that suit you better, Nir?”

 _It does indeed._ Sleipnir lowers his head so he and Evelyn are eye to eye. _I do not need you to prove yourself.  You have Sister Hela’s approval and Father’s.  That is enough for me._

Evelyn inclines her head. “Thank you, Sleipnir.  I do look forward to getting to know both you and Fenrir, though.  Loki told me stories, but I never was actually able to meet either of you.”

 _You are to stay at the palace?_ he asks.

“I assume so,” she smiles wryly. “I can’t really imagine Loki will let me stay anywhere else once he realizes I’ve arrived.”

“On that topic.” The Valkyrie steps forward this time.  Held in her outstretched hand is a simple looking pendant. “A present for you, Evelyn Rosalie Potter.  What you seek to accomplish will be hindered at times by the fact that you are physically eleven. This pendant is the result of many years of spell crafting.  It will allow you the appearance of your true age for brief amounts of time depending on where you are.” Evelyn inhales sharply, realizing the implications of what she’s offering. “While the illusion will be physical to touch, it will not change your hormones.  Here on Asgard, you will be allowed a full twelve hours. On Midgard, a mere six. However, it will take seven days at least to recharge the pendant if you are on Asgard and a minimum of fourteen if you remain on Midgard.” She presses the pendant into Evelyn’s hand.

“This…this is…” Evelyn trails off, unable to come up with words to express her gratitude at such a gift.

“It is a gift freely given,” the Valkyrie says kindly before turning her eyes to beyond Evelyn. “Unfortunately, Dudley Vernon Dursley, your magic is not strong enough to support a similar pendant.”

“That’s fine!” Dudley squeaks behind her. “I’m good!  I’m so good!”

“Are you okay, Dud?” Evelyn asks, turning to face him.  He still appears rather shell shocked.

He gives her a deadpan look. “Ask me that again in a week.”

Fair enough.  Asgard can be overwhelming the first time you arrive.  She’d gawked for all that she’d just been dumped in a prison cell at first.  She’d gawked even more when they’d been running around after the Dark Elves.

Drawing in a deep breath, Evelyn places the pendant chain around her neck and fastens it closed.  The instant she does, she feels the magic in the pendant start to cover her body. It’s disorienting, so she closes her eyes until she feels the magic settle.  When she opens them again, she’s a good head and a half taller than her near eleven year old self is. Her clothes, thankfully, have resized along with her.

“This will be so immensely helpful,” she murmurs, flexing her hand experimentally.

“Well done,” Hela intones, resting a hand on the Valkyrie’s shoulder.  The woman simply inclines her head back. “Avatar mine, here is where I will leave you.  Should I require you for anything, I will give you ample warning so as to not alarm my father.  Heimdall, till later.”

“Asgard’s blessings go with you, Princess,” Heimdall returns, bowing his head to her before she and the Valkyrie step into the open portal and vanish from sight.

 _Do you intend to dally here much longer, or do you wish to seek out Father?_ Sleipnir asks, nudging Evelyn’s shoulder gently.

“Could you find him easily?” With the marriage bond between them in shreds, she’s not certain she’d be able to find him in a reasonable amount of time, and the last thing she wants to do is wander around Asgard right now.

 _Of course, he is our father,_ Fenrir huffs as if insulted.

 _That is why we came,_ Sleipnir snorts, bobbing his head up and down.

She smiles and reaches out to stroke Sleipnir’s neck. “It’s much appreciated.  I know how much he can worry.”

 _He does love to worry,_ the horse agrees. _If you like, you may ride me so that we might get to Father all the quicker._

The offer is amazing, as Evelyn recalls Loki telling her that the stallion is rather picky about who he allows to ride him. “Thank you, Sleipnir.”

 _Fen, you will carry her kin?_ Sleipnir continues, turning his head to look expectantly at the wolf. _You are able to be a more reasonable size than I._

 _Just this once,_ the wolf grumbles, somehow managing to produce a stink eye that he levels at Sleipnir.  The stallion, of course, isn’t at all fazed by the look. Evelyn can’t help chuckling as Fenrir pads back over to her and Dudley, shrinking in size with every step he takes.  He flops down at Evelyn’s feet, appearing extremely put out.

“Thank you, Fenrir,” she murmurs, reaching down to run a hand through the wolf’s fur.  He huffs out a breath but his irritation seems to settle a little. “Dudley, want any help getting on?”

“And why exactly am _I_ the one riding the wolf?” he complains.

 _My_ name _is Fenrir, boy,_ Fenrir growls, baring his teeth slightly.  Evelyn hears Dudley gulp at the sight. It is a bit intimidating, all those teeth.

“You’re riding Fenrir, cousin, because you’re a little too short to be climbing up onto Sleipnir,” Evelyn says a touch dryly. “Unless you’d like to attempt to?” She waves a hand towards the stallion whose back her head only now reaches at her short 165 cm height.  Again, she’s really hoping to maybe gain a few more centimeters if she starts eating better now.

Dudley scowls while he crosses his arms. “I’d just fall off and hurt myself, wouldn’t I?”

 _Most certainly, little human,_ Sleipnir agrees. _Perhaps when you are taller._

“Again, Dudley, want any help?” Evelyn asks one more time, starting to get impatient now that the offer to take her to Loki has been made.  She’d been relatively fine up until then.

Her cousins sighs. “Yeah, probably a good idea.  I’d rather not fall flat on my face trying on my own.”

“Fenrir, are you ready?” Evelyn inquires just to be courteous.

 _Just get this over with,_ he gripes back.  Evelyn wastes no more time, grabbing Dudley and depositing him onto Fenrir’s back.  She holds him steady as Fenrir gets to his feet, making sure he has a firm handful of fur to hold onto before turning to Sleipnir.

Heimdall has stepped down from his dias and is standing beside the stallion. “I will help you mount, Lady Potter,” he says.

She smiles at him. “Just Evelyn is fine, Gatekeeper.” With his help, she’s boosted up onto Sleipnir’s back.  She twists her fingers through his mane, suddenly very grateful for Draco making her take riding lessons as part of learning to be a proper Lady Potter.  Otherwise, there’s no way she’d be able to ride Sleipnir without a saddle or bridle. Still, it’s exhilarating to feel such a powerful horse between her legs again.  Even as the stallion just shifts his weight back and forth, she can feel the strength in his muscles he has coiled up tightly. Horseback riding, she’d quickly discovered, was nearly as freeing as racing her broom through the clouds.

“Then you may call me Heimdall,” the man returns, patting her leg once before backing away. “Safe travels to you, Evelyn Rosalie Potter.”

Unable to help herself, she offers a wicked and wild smile that reflects the frantic pounding of her heart.  Then, it only takes a touch of her heels and Sleipnir is turning to charge out of the Observatory and onto the Rainbow Bridge.  With the wind blowing in her face and the feel of Sleipnir’s muscles rippling smoothly between her legs, it’s the freest Evelyn’s felt in years.  She throws her head back and laughs, tossing the sound out to the winds.

They meet no resistance upon reaching the end of the Rainbow Bridge and Sleipnir heads directly towards the towering golden palace Evelyn’s only really seen the prison of.  People dart out of the way as they go thundering by, Sleipnir’s head thrown high and ears pricked forward.

 _He is at the training grounds again,_ Fenrir announces.  Sleipnir corrects himself only slightly, turning his path to the left minutely.  The buildings progressively get thinner and thinner until there’s nothing but open field to both sides and stretching out before them.  Now Fenrir draws level with Sleipnir as the stallion starts to slow, and Evelyn can’t help laughing again at how windswept Dudley looks clinging to the wolf’s back.

Fenrir abruptly throws his head back and howls, long and loud.  Evelyn can feel her heart leap up into her throat as two figures in the distance turn at the sound.  The gleam of golden armor catches her eye, and she’s sliding off Sleipnir’s back before she even realizes she’s moving.

“Loki!” she screams, racing across the training ground towards her husband.  He stands frozen as if he can’t believe he’s seeing her before stumbling forward a few steps.  Once he’s started moving he’s sprinting towards her.

They crash into each other, Loki’s arms going around her waist to lift her up and twirl her around before they go tumbling to the ground.  She’s crying and clinging to him while he buries his face in her hair, arms tightening to hold her close.

“You’re here,” he whispers hoarsely, magic shrouding them protectively. “You’re _here_.”

“I’m here,” she replies, twining her magic with his.  It grounds her and him, if only slightly. It lets them both know that the other is _there_. “I’m here, love, I’m here.”

His grip on her tightens even more before he relaxes his hold so he’s no longer crushing her to his chest.  A hand makes its way up so it’s tangled in her hair. “I thought I was going to have to wait even longer before you came.”

Evelyn laughs through her tears. “Hela apparently decided I needed to come to Asgard now.  She just brought us to Asgard and Sleipnir and Fenrir brought us to you.”

Loki retreats only just enough for them to be able to look at each other. “I’ll have to thank her when I see her again.  Waiting for you was torture. Hela told me I had to wait for you to come, that I couldn’t go seek you out myself.” Then he blinks and draws back even further. “I thought you would be younger.”

Evelyn smiles wryly while wiping away the tears still running down her cheeks. “I am, but I was given a gift.” She touches the pendant where it rests in the hollow of her neck. “It gives me the appearance of my true age for twelve hours here on Asgard.  Hela’s Valkyrie actually gave it to me.”

Loki darts forward and presses a short but heated kiss to her lips. “Whatever spell work it is, I am grateful for it.”

“Brother, am I going to have to beg for a hug from my sister, or will you consent to letting her go for a brief moment?”

Evelyn nearly jumps out of her skin at the sound of Thor’s voice, and she looks up to see the blond standing a little ways away.  He’s without Mjolnir, which surprises her. But then what he said actually sinks in.

“Thor?” She can’t help how her voice breaks, but it’s been three years since she’s seen him.  Since they lost them. Wordlessly, Loki pulls them to their feet again, then pushes her in his brother’s direction.  She nearly trips over her own feet, but Thor easily catches her. He sweeps her up into a spine popping hug that she returns desperately. “How—?”

“We don’t know.  Perhaps your luck affected the spell more than you originally thought.” Thor’s voice rumbles through and around her, and Evelyn starts crying all over again.  She’s just missed him so much. He’d become the big brother she hadn’t known she’d always wanted. While Loki had mourned after just beginning to better understand his brother and Thor him, Evelyn had mourned having her brother torn away from her so shortly after finding him.

A hand touches the small of her back, and Evelyn instinctively knows it’s Loki.  She reaches out blindly to draw him into the embrace, wanting both her boys as near as possible.  She inhales deeply, relishing in the smell of frost and earth intertwining with ozone and smoking pine.  Thor wraps his arms around both of them, holding them steady. Loki bends down to press his face to the side of her forehead, breath tickling down her throat.

“Welcome home, alskling,” he murmurs almost reverently.

“It’s good to be home,” she whispers back.

 

* * *

 

In the empty office of the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, a small, whirling thing sputters briefly before falling over.  The few portraits still awake don’t make anything of it, far too used to little bobs and bits of the Headmaster’s doing all manner of things. It won’t be until much, much later that it’s really, truly noticed, and by then, there will be little that Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore can do about it.


	8. Meeting the In-laws

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Mother knows we’re here,” he comments, “and apparently she’s a bit impatient.”
> 
> “Great,” Evelyn grouses, wrapping her arms around herself. “Just bloody great.”
> 
> Her husband cocks an eyebrow at her. “Where’s that Gryffindor courage you’re so proud of?”
> 
> “Back on Midgard,” she mutters.
> 
> His lips spread into a disbelieving smile. “Are you scared about meeting my mother?”
> 
> “Lovely, I have only done the whole meet the in-laws thing once, and we rarely saw each other after that,” she throws back at him. “I expect I’ll be seeing a fair bit more of your mother than I did Narcissa, so I really don’t want to screw this up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, not very happy with how the second half turned out, but I’m not going to agonize over it. I got to where I wanted to, and now I get to write a chapter everyone’s eagerly been anticipating! Enjoy

How long they stand there like that, Evelyn can’t say.  But eventually she does remember her cousin who only really knows her.  So, rather reluctantly, she draws back and turns towards where Dudley, Fenrir, and Sleipnir are still standing.  Dudley’s managed to get himself off Fenrir, but he looks incredibly awkward standing between the wolf and the stallion who just tower over him.

“Dudley,” she calls to him.  He jumps, having been side eyeing Fenrir who’s currently giving him a rather toothy wolfish smile. “Come over here.” She holds out a hand and curls her fingers to beckon him over.  He hesitantly takes a few steps, and she smiles encouragingly at him. “I promise they won’t bite,” she adds with another wiggle of her fingers.

“Much,” Loki murmurs into her ear while wrapping an arm around her waist and pressing up against her back.  She doesn’t even have to look behind her to be able to whack him with the hand not reached out to Dudley. He grunts, but presses closer all the same.  He just stays silent now to avoid any further abuse on her part.

When Dudley finally reaches them, Evelyn makes sure to give his hand a reassuring squeeze before letting it go. “Loki, Thor, I’d like to introduce you to my cousin Dudley Vernon Dursley.  He remembers all the undone years as well. Dud, this is my husband Loki and our brother Thor.”

“’llo,” her cousin mumbles, eyes trained very firmly on the ground.

Thor, of course, is the one who does something as Loki has attached himself to her and shows no sign of letting go anytime soon.  Not that Evelyn blames him for that. She doesn’t really want him to. The God of Thunder crouches down so he can be eye to eye with Dudley before offering his hand.  Her cousin peeks at Thor through his eye lashes, cheeks a bright red. “Welcome to Asgard, young Dudley,” Thor says. “Any kin that my sister claims as her own is kin to me as well.”

Evelyn leans back into Loki and laughs at the wide eyed look on Dudley’s face at that pronouncement. “Thor, you’re going to scare him away before we do anything else!”

That, of course, makes Dudley puff up indignantly. “I’ve dealt with your weirdness for years, Potter,” he retorts. “This isn’t going to scare me away.”

She bares her teeth in a wicked smile that has him blanching. “Then shake Thor’s hand, cousin.”

He scowls back at her, but squares his shoulders and does just that. “It’s nice to meet you, sir,” he says.  Evelyn has to give him some credit, as his voice doesn’t shake too much.

“No need for this ‘sir’ business,” Thor scolds gently, giving her cousin’s hand a very firm shake. “There should be no formality between family.”

Dudley _eeps_ a little and edges just a bit closer to Evelyn’s side once Thor lets go. “’kay.”

Loki’s throaty chuckle rumbling against her back has her smile going fond.  It’s been so long since they’ve had any reason to laugh. She’s going to be cherishing it everytime it comes out for a while.

_I like her, Father,_ Sleipnir suddenly announces, trotting over with Fenrir. _She is quite nice._

_She is better than Sigyn,_ Fenrir states firmly, pressing up against them.

“I’m glad you both approve,” her husband says a touch wryly.  He does reach out to run a hand through Fenrir’s fur, so Evelyn scratches the wolf behind his ears as well.  Fenrir rumbles approvingly, leaning into both touches. Then Loki sighs, the small puff of air tickling the side of her neck. “Thor, if you want to eat before you meet with Sif again, then I suggest returning to the palace now.”

Evelyn perks up at the mention of the female warrior. “Does Sif remember as well?” She wouldn’t put it past her weird luck, not after Thor remembering without her even being on Asgard at the time.  Of course, she’s never really truly met the woman, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t want to know her regardless. She’s actually eager to, after the stories Thor and Loki have told her of the woman warrior.

Loki scoffs. “No.  She’s just concerned because some imbecile blew up our wing of the palace two nights ago.”

Evelyn blinks before glancing at a very sheepish looking Thor. “You did _what?_ ” she asks, completely and utterly flabbergasted.  She can’t remember any other time Thor lost control to such a degree, besides when they’d lost Jane.

“I thought I had just died and reacted badly to waking up,” he shrugs almost helplessly. “Mjolnir couldn’t bear the brunt of my powers such as they’d grown to be, so it broke again.  This time it didn’t contain itself quite as much.” He does fix an exasperated look on Loki. “And how long do you intend to remind me of that, brother?”

While she can’t see it, she knows Loki’s smirking right back. “For however long I wish to.”

“Then I suppose I shall have to endure until you’ve had your fill,” Thor chuckles. “Do you intend to return to the palace with me?”

“We should,” Evelyn murmurs, driving an elbow into Loki’s side when he makes a noise of protest. “The longer you delay, the worse it’ll be.  We can’t just hide away from everyone.”

“Says who?” he mutters back, lips ghosting over her ear and causing her to shiver.

She lightly slaps the arm wrapped around her waist. “Lovely, I’d like to at least meet your mother.” However much the idea of meeting her mother-in-law terrifies her, she does want to meet the woman that’s so important to her husband.  Narcissa and she had connected some, but the woman had mostly just been happy to be out from under Lucius’ thumb. As Lady Black, Evelyn had given Narcissa her freedom back and subsequently financed all of the woman’s world travels. They rarely saw each other after that.

Loki sighs again, pressing his forehead down onto her shoulder. “She will want to meet you as well,” he begrudgingly agrees.

_I will carry you and Father to the palace,_ Sleipnir declares, stepping forward and nudging Evelyn’s shoulder that Loki doesn’t have his forehead on. _Let the little human and Thor ride the decorated horses._

“More riding?” Dudley gulps, looking decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. “Eve, I didn’t take riding lessons like you.  I’m going to fall off.”

“Then I shall stay beside you to ensure Eystein does not try any mischief,” Thor offers.

Evelyn breathes out a near silent sigh of relief. “That work for you, Dud?”

He shoots her a flat, unimpressed look. “What kind of choice do I really have?”

At this, Evelyn wiggles out of Loki’s embrace so she can kneel down beside her cousin. “Dudley Vernon Dursley, look at me,” she commands when it’s clear he doesn’t want to.  She only continues when he finally meets her gaze. “I was prepared for this. I even had some idea of what might happen. You weren’t prepared at all. If it becomes too much for you, _tell me_.  I’ll see to it that you’re brought back to Earth and taken care of.  I will _stay_ with you for however long that may take.  Thor and Loki might be my family, but you are too.  That means I will worry and care for you just as much I will them.  Do you understand?”

“I _want_ to stay with you!” Dudley insists, “But Eve, it’s a _lot_ to take it all in the course of a few days.” He laughs bitterly. “It took me eight bloody years to wrap my head around the fact that magic was real, and another six before I was even comfortable with it being used around me.  You’ve got to give me time to adjust to bloody _gods_ actually being real.”

“I know,” she says softly, reaching out to touch his cheek. “I know, and that’s why I’m going to be constantly checking to make sure you’re okay with whatever’s happening.  Because your health and happiness is just as important to me as theirs. So I’ll ask again. Are you good with Thor riding beside you to make sure you won’t fall off?”

He exhales noisily, dragging a hand down over his face. “Yeah, I’m good with that.”

“Alright.” She straightens back up, but then grins down at him. “Thor’s not all that different from you, really.  Big, bulky guy with a heart of gold and a great cuddler. I think you’ll get along great.”

“Yeah, but _he’s_ a prince,” Dudley mutters under his breath, probably not really meant to be heard, so Evelyn lets it slide.  Instead, she turns back to where Loki is waiting beside Sleipnir. Both Fenrir and Thor have disappeared, but Evelyn figures Thor went to get the horses.

“You know I’ll follow if you leave,” her husband murmurs, reaching out to thread their fingers together.  He also leans down to rest his forehead against hers. “You’ll not be rid of me that easily, not now.”

“I know,” she says, squeezing his hand gently, “but you understand that Dudley is just as important to me as you?  Just in a different way?” She peers at him hesitantly.

Loki sighs. “Alskling, I have always known that for family, there is nothing you wouldn’t do for them that is within your power to accomplish.” His hand not in hers curls around the back of her neck, applying only the tiniest bit of pressure. “I might understand, but for now, I won’t care for that particular tendency of yours if it takes you away from me for any period of time.”

“Fair enough,” she concedes.  She really doesn’t want to be away from him either, but if Dudley needs her, she’ll do it.

The crunching of boots and hooves on loose gravel has Evelyn turning in the direction of the sound.  Thor is coming back from wherever he disappeared to, leading two horses. One is a dark bay and the other a light dappled grey.  Both have rather modest looking tack, for all that they’re Thor and Loki’s mounts. Then again, if the brothers are just riding around the palace and its grounds, they probably don’t need any fancy looking tack.  Maybe Sleipnir meant decorated as wearing any sort of tack?

“Oh, they’re gorgeous,” she whispers reverently regardless.  They’re nowhere near as powerful looking as Sleipnir, but for regular horses she can tell their breeding would probably make Draco drool, pureblood bastard that he is.

Sleipnir snorts, tossing his head almost indignantly. _They are acceptable._

Evelyn can’t help her giggle at that. “Oh, no horse I meet will ever be as magnificent as you, Sleipnir, but they are extraordinary in their own right.” She wanders over, Loki trailing after her seeing as he refuses to let go of her hand.  Going to the grey first, she lets the stallion inspect her before running a hand over his soft muzzle. “Hello handsome,” she all but coos, scratching her way down his neck. “What’s your name, lovely?”

“He is Eystein and he is Loki’s,” Thor says. “He and Helmar have born us faithfully into many a battle.”

Evelyn hums under her breath, moving on to Helmar as Eystein begins demanding attention from Loki.  Again she lets the stallion inspect her before loving on him. “Oh you’re just as handsome,” she murmurs, rubbing over the splash of white between Helmar’s eyes.  Then she sighs, taking a step back. “I’ll stand here all day loving on your horses if I let myself,” she says a bit wryly when Thor looks at her curiously. “We should probably get going.”

Thor dips his head to her. “As you wish.” He holds out Helmar’s reins to her. “If you will stay with Helmar, I will assist seeing Dudley into Eystein’s saddle while Loki holds him steady.”

Evelyn smiles prettily at him. “Such a hardship,” she teases, sinking a hand into Helmar’s glossy mane.  The stallion tosses his head, dancing briefly in place before she gently but firmly steadies him. “Steady now, none of that,” she scolds lightly.

“You never did mention you had worked with horses before,” Loki comments while Thor just lifts Dudley up off the ground and deposits him onto Eystein’s back.

“And when, exactly, was I supposed to mention that while we were running for our lives?” she inquires with a sarcastic drawl. “I only know how to ride because Draco—” She falters, sucking in a startled gulp of air. “Because Draco considered it something a pureblood Lady ought to know.” She’s much more subdued when she finishes.  Again she’s reminded she no longer has to deal with the fallout over the fact that her heart chose another. For all that she cowardly, selfishly is glad of that, she wishes it wasn’t at the cost of her friend. And Draco had become a true friend in those years together, even though she can’t ever love him like he deserves anymore.  She smiles weakly. “It gave me a sense of freedom that I desperately craved and previously could only get while flying.”

“Then I am glad you learned,” Loki murmurs, letting go of Eystein’s bridle and pressing himself up against her side.  She leans into him, fighting back the tears that threaten to fall. She’s lived with the possibility of not seeing Draco again for eight years, but only now that it’s set in stone does it seem to be truly hitting her.  Loki, bless him, lets her have a moment to grieve. He knows about Draco, and given his history with Sigyn, hadn’t been too irrationally upset with her being with someone else before him. It helps that Evelyn’s pretty sure Draco’s one of the few reasons she settled so well after the war.  Between him and Teddy, they gave her something to live for. Teddy had needed a mother, so Evelyn couldn’t go swanning off like she’d been thinking of at first. Then they’d run into Draco one day, and Evelyn had discovered someone just as lost and floundering as she felt. She and Draco had rediscovered themselves together.  He’d taught her pureblood customs and she’d introduced him to the Muggle world. They’d both come out of it as better people.

“Thank you,” she breathes.

“Always, alskling,” he returns, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I can sense Mother is in her gardens.  Do you want to see her now?”

Evelyn considers this. “How likely is it for Odin to join her?” she asks, because she knows herself.  She probably will go off at Odin the instant she sees him, and that’s not really the first impression she wants to give Loki’s mother.  Her only grievance with Frigga is that she never told Loki that he was adopted. She’d made sure Teddy knew, and that that little fact didn’t mean she loved him any less.  There will be time aplenty to explain that to the Queen of Asgard.

Loki’s arm around her waist tightens minutely. “Very.”

She heaves out a sigh. “Then let’s go meet her.” Before she loses all her Gryffindor confidence and courage. “Dudley, do you—?”

Her cousin cuts her off. “Thor offered to take me his room and get food for both of us.” He gives her a strained smile from where he’s perched on Eystein’s back. “Don’t think I’m quite up for meeting a Queen just yet.”

She dips her head back. “If that’s what you want, then okay.” She turns a curious eye to Thor. “I thought you blew up your rooms, though?”

“We were given temporary ones while our wing is being reconstructed.  They are just as safe as our usual ones, so do not fear for your cousin’s safety,” Thor assures her, taking Helmar’s reins from her. “We shall rejoin you later.” He swings up into his saddle with an agile grace one wouldn’t expect with his bulk. “If you would, I suggest you leaving before us so Eystein is not tempted to attempt to race Sleipnir.”

That startles a chuckle out of Evelyn. “Yeah, I don’t think he’d win.”

_Of course not,_ the stallion scoffs.

“Milady,” Loki intones, offering his hand.

She grins at him. “Milord.” She lets him boost her back onto Sleipnir’s back.  Before she can offer him a hand in return, he gets himself up behind her and wraps his arms around her waist. “Oh, I like this,” she says, twisting her fingers in Sleipnir’s mane while leaning back against him.

Her husband presses his lips to her neck and she can feel them curving into a smirk. “As do I.  Sleipnir, you remember the way to Mother’s gardens?”

Sleipnir tosses his head. _Of course.  She sometimes lets me eat one of the apples that grow there._

Evelyn throws back her head and laughs. “That’s a very good reason to remember.” She pats him once on the neck. “Let’s hope she’ll let you have one today as well.” Then she gives Thor and Dudley a smile filled with all the warmth and love she feels for them. “See you later!”

Sleipnir needs no prompting this time, starting off at a leisurely canter.  When they’re farther away from Thor and Dudley, he breaks into a ground-eating gallop that sees the distance between them and the palace rapidly disappearing.  It’s just as freeing as it was the first time.

Instead of going into the palace itself, Sleipnir circles around towards the back.  Evelyn can see a multitude of different gardens stretched out beyond the shining palace of gold, ones she just knows would have Neville itching to dig his hands into.  She shoves away the reminder of yet another friend lost to her. Sleipnir slows to trot through them, heading to the one surrounded by a gleaming fence. He comes to a stop at the gate, and Loki slides off.  He quickly dusts himself off before turning back to her.

“Milady,” he says again, offering her a hand.

She takes it, letting him help her down for all that she really doesn’t need it. “You going to keep that up?” she inquires.

“Perhaps,” he says casually, running a hand through her tangled curls.  With a snap of his fingers, it combs itself out and twists into a simple braid.  She pecks a kiss to his cheek in thanks. If she’d attempted that, her hair would’ve just been worse than when she started.  Her magic has never really like to help when it comes to her hair. Both Remus and Sirius told her that that’s been an ongoing problem in the Potter family for generations.  Thankfully, Loki can tame her mane of hair, and he actually enjoys doing it.

“If I start blabbering on, please silence me,” she begs.

Loki chuckles softly. “You’ll be fine.  Mother will adore you.”

She frowns back at him. “Loki, I’m serious.  You know me. When I’m nervous I—”

The closed gate they’re standing by suddenly swings open silently without any visible prompting, startling Evelyn so much she yelps.  Loki, the bloody bastard, just hums under his breath like that’s normal.

“Mother knows we’re here,” he comments, “and apparently she’s a bit impatient.”

“Great,” Evelyn grouses, wrapping her arms around herself. “Just bloody great.”

Her husband cocks an eyebrow at her. “Where’s that Gryffindor courage you’re so proud of?”

“Back on Midgard,” she mutters.

His lips spread into a disbelieving smile. “Are you scared about meeting my mother?”

“Lovely, I have only done the whole meet the in-laws thing _once_ , and we rarely saw each other after that,” she throws back at him. “I expect I’ll be seeing a fair bit more of your mother than I did Narcissa, so I _really_ don’t want to screw this up.”

He frames her face in his hands and kisses her slowly and deeply.  She sinks into it, letting the familiar feeling ground her. “Because you make me happy,” Loki says, his voice low and rough and sending shivers down her spine, “she will accept you.  Because I love you, she will love you in turn. You have nothing to be afraid of.”

“Okay,” she breathes out against his lips.  She dips her head down and breathes in deeply. “Okay,” she repeats while taking a step back.  She lifts her chin back up and squares her shoulders. “Let’s go.”

Loki smiles fondly, but doesn’t say anything else.  He just takes her hand and leads her into the garden while Sleipnir trails along behind them.

It’s magnificent.  When Evelyn stretches out her senses, she can feel all the love and care and devotion that have gone into it.  The feeling settles some of her shaking nerves. Surely someone who inspired all of this can’t be too bad.

They come to a clearing ringed with flowers of every color.  In the middle there’s a blanket laden with food spread out underneath an apple tree.  Sitting demurely on the blanket is a woman dressed in fine silk and minimal golden armor.

“Mother,” Loki says, letting go of Evelyn’s hand to stride forward and wrap the woman up into a hug when she gets to her feet.

“Loki,” Queen Frigga returns.  Her voice is soft and soothing, but Evelyn can hear hidden behind it a core of steel.  She’s not one to be tested lightly. Not that Evelyn had expected anything different. “And who is this enchanting young woman you’ve brought with you?” There’s a knowing, teasing look in her gaze when their eyes meet.

Evelyn gulps.

“Mother, this is Evelyn Rosalie Potter, my wife,” Loki says, a note of pride in his voice that makes Evelyn smile despite herself. “Alskling, this is my mother Frigga.”

When Frigga holds out a hand, Evelyn obediently steps forward to take it.  A rush of protective magic envelopes her, making her shudder. “Well met, Evelyn Rosalie Potter, and welcome to Asgard,” Frigga greets her, squeezing gently. “I have been looking forward to meeting you ever since Loki informed us of you.”

She smiles back weakly. “I’m glad I can finally meet you as well.”

“Come sit and eat,” Frigga offers. “We may talk as we eat.”

Evelyn nods jerkily, letting Loki lead her to a spot and practically collapsing down as she sits. “Deep breathes, alskling,” he murmurs into her ear, his breath tickling down her throat.

Without thinking, she whacks him, immediately mortified at the sound of Frigga chuckling.

“I see you will have no troubles keeping my trickster in line,” Frigga says, settling herself opposite the two of them.

“I had lots of practice before I met him,” Evelyn states flatly, eyeing her husband as he builds a plate for her.  She accepts the food from him before pointedly watching him until he gets his own. “My father and his friends were pranksters growing up, as were some of my friends that I met at school.  Loki just had more time to perfect his skills than them.” She piles some meat and cheese onto a slice of bread. It takes all her self-control to keep from moaning when she takes a bite. The food she’d snuck when she’d been stuck in Loki’s prison cell have nothing on this.  It tastes better than any other food she’s eaten before for all it’s simplicity. Even better than Kreacher’s cooking, and he’d been fairly devoted to spoiling her. When she sees the knowing and amused look on Loki’s face, she doesn’t even hesitate to hit him again. “You could’ve warned me!”

He grins back. “But then I’d miss out on your reaction, and what a lovely reaction that was.”

She scowls. “Rude.”

“You have not had Asgardian food before?” Frigga inquires.

“Only prison food,” Evelyn replies almost carelessly for all that she watches Frigga’s reaction. “We didn’t exactly stick around after getting out.” The Queen of Asgard just nods, taking a bite of her own food.  Evelyn turns her gaze back to her husband. “What, exactly, have you told her about what happened?”

“That the Realms were collapsing and I used Soul Magic to send you back,” Loki says soberly.  He reaches out to run his fingers over her cheek. “I didn’t have it in me to say much more without you by my side.”

“I do know that you are my granddaughter’s Avatar and that my son fell afoul with the Mad Titan,” Frigga adds on. “The Mad Titan will be discussed at a later time, but might you tell me how you came to possess all of Hela’s treasures?”

“Of course,” Evelyn agrees, clearing her throat. “The cloak has been passed down through my father’s family for generations now.  The stone I was gifted. The wand I won by chance.” A strained smile spreads across her lips. “Because of them, and the fact that my blood had been used in a ritual, I was able to walk to my death and then walk away.” She reaches out blindly towards Loki, who immediately takes her hand in his. “Hela informed later me that _that_ was what actually sealed their alliance to me, my willingness to die for the sake of my friends.”

Frigga makes a noise in the back of her throat. “My apologies.  I didn’t mean to distress you.”

Evelyn shakes her head. “You couldn’t have know.  It’s knowledge I’ve lived with for twenty two years now.  I’m just used to most everyone already knowing.” She laughs weakly. “I’m known as the Girl-Who-Lived and the Woman-Who-Conquered because of it.”

Frigga frowns and Evelyn has to make herself not flinch for all that the woman hasn’t lifted a single hand against her. “Yes, I do remember Hela and my sons mentioning something about a murderer who seeks you out.” She turns sharp eyes onto Loki. “I assume you will be doing something about that, my son?”

“Of course,” he retorts.

Frigga nods decisively. “Good.  Your lady may stay here in Asgard while you do so should you desire it.”

“Unfortunately, there’s a prophecy that says otherwise,” Evelyn interjects. “It’s by my hand that he has to die.” She shrugs. “I killed him before, once more shouldn’t be too difficult.” She bares her teeth in a vicious grin. “At least this time I know where all the pieces of his soul are hidden.  Makes things a bit easier rather than meandering around the countryside without a clue of where to go.”

“You’ll not be doing that alone, alskling,” Loki warns.

She scoffs. “As if I’d try to stop you.”

“You are more warrior than my other daughter was,” Frigga comments. “I can see that that is what my son truly needs by his side.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Evelyn returns blandly before looking pointedly at Loki. “I still haven’t changed my mind about that, just so you know.”

He huffs out a sigh, already knowing what she’s talking about. “Alskling, you don’t—”

“Get used to it,” she primly informs him. “There’s no reason not to start thinking about it, so you’d just best get used to the idea of having a daughter named Sigyn.  Hela thinks it’s a good idea as well.”

He blinks at her, stupefied. “You talked to _Hela?_ ”

“Of course I talked to Hela about that.  It’s her mother I intend to honor. Why wouldn’t I ask her if she was alright with that?  I would’ve asked your mother as well, but—” She abruptly goes silent, wide eyes darting swiftly between her husband and his mother.  Frigga raises an eyebrow, but otherwise doesn’t comment on her sudden stop. Apparently she hasn’t been informed of her untimely death yet, then, if that’s all she does.

“You intend to name a daughter Sigyn?” she says instead.

Evelyn swallows around the lump in her throat. “I do.” Sigyn Lillian, after her mother and Hela’s.  Just as she’d always intended to name a son either James Sirius or Sirius James. She’d already had a son named after Remus after all.  Of course, life hadn’t given her anymore children beyond Teddy. Hopefully this time she’ll get them. She desperately hopes so.

Frigga smiles warmly. “It’s a lovely idea.”

“Thank you.”

A silence that feels extremely awkward to Evelyn blankets them, everyone eating quietly.  It’s broken when Loki hisses in a sharp breath through his teeth, turning to glare in the direction they came in.  His magic rubs against Evelyn’s abrasively, setting her on edge. It’s her turn to inhale sharply at the figure stepping out around the tree.  She sets down her plate and gets to her feet so she can place herself firmly in front of Loki.

“Hello Odin,” she stately flatly.


	9. Don't touch my stuff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Father joined you for lunch, then?” Thor asks softly.
> 
> “No, thank the stars, he did not,” Evelyn snarls through bared teeth. “He decided to grace us with his presence after we’d eaten. I rather took exception to that idea, and informed him of such. Also told him that I will bloody well not stay silent if I think he’s trying to mess with my husband and to watch his step otherwise.”
> 
> “I do appreciate the warning,” Thor says a touch dryly. “I’d like some more time still before I must take up the throne, though, if you would.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter you’ve all been waiting for! And me, if you couldn’t tell! It took me all of two days to write this baby! Enjoy!

They stare at each other, her and the King of Asgard.

Even without his armor on, he wears more gold than she really thinks is necessary.  It just makes her think of all the pureblood Lords sucking up to her after the war, obscenely displaying their wealth for all to see.

“Evelyn Rosalie Potter, I presume?” His voice is deep and rolling, very much like Thor’s.  However, she doesn’t hear the compassion Thor’s has anywhere in it. It’s rigid and unyielding, prepared to strike down those who stand in his way.  And while that might be a good quality for a King to have, she doesn’t much agree with the lack of compassion it inspires. Especially considering he’s supposed to be a peaceful King right now.

“You would be correct,” she drawls, tipping her head to him in a mockery of a bow.  The only King she _might_ bow to would be Thor, and since he doesn’t currently sit on Asgard’s throne, she won’t be bowing to anyone anytime soon. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your presence?”

“I would know the woman who inspired such loyalties in my sons that they would die for her,” Odin intones, smartly making no more moves to approach any further.  Her magic is already but a finger’s snap away from going deadly.

She slowly raises an eyebrow. “Really now?  You’re sure about that? You’re not just here to see what lowly woman caught the extra’s eye?  Because that’s what it seems like to me.” Her lips curl into a sneer that Snape would be proud of. “Thor did not die for _me_ , you imbecile.  He _died_ for the people of Vanaheim.  He _died_ so that they might live.  He _died_ because Asgard had closed their gates to the rest of the Realms and we had no other way to transport people between the Realms.  It was have Thor hold open the Gate or let the people of Vanaheim perish.”

“Alskling,” Loki murmurs while touching a hand between her tense shoulder blades.

She inhales sharply, letting her eyes briefly drift closed as she makes herself exhale slowly in an attempt to calm her already spiking temper.  When she opens her eyes again, she fixes Odin with a _look_. “Do not belittle Thor’s death just because you don’t care for my presence in his life, Allfather.  Thor fell keeping a whole people’s safe. Honor that if nothing else.”

Amazingly, Odin looks surprised of all things. “You think I object your presence in my sons’ lives?”

Evelyn snorts. “I gathered as much when Asgard did the equivalent of slamming the door in our faces when we needed your help the most.  Since I refused to see my husband beg to a people who’d turned their backs on him, I did the asking. I’m rather used to being the punching bag, you see.  So I asked for help when Thor broke Mjolnir. I asked when Thor fell with Vanaheim. I asked when Nivadelir fell.” She barks out a sharp, bitter laugh. “We only knew Asgard fell because the few Asgardian refugees we were sheltering felt their connection to Asgard rather abruptly shatter.  All because their King finally fell. _That_ is how I know what my worth to you is.  I stood by your _heir_ and yet you did nothing.  You didn’t lift a single fucking _finger_ to help us mere mortals.  You just stood by and hid in your golden halls until reality finally caught up with you and you _lost_.

“Also, how _dare_ you call Loki your son after everything you’ve subjected him to!  You _constantly_ compare him to Thor when the two of them couldn’t be more different!  Of course Loki won’t ever measure up to him! He’s not Thor! He is his own damn person, and until you get that through your thick, obnoxious skull, I’m of the opinion that you can just stay the hell away from him!”

That, of course, sparks a reaction she expects.  Odin’s expression goes thunderous and she can feel his power stirring in the air. “You presume much to order me around, mortal.”

“I’ll presume all I want, thanks!” she snarls back, undaunted even in the face of an angered Odin. “ _You’re_ the one who claimed him as your son, but you did a shitty job of being a father to him!  Unless you’d planned to keep him locked up in Asgard all his life, the truth about his heritage was going to come out sooner or later.  You’re the bloody King! You could’ve done _something_ to change people’s minds about Jotuns!  Instead you let your Jotun son grow up hearing that his kind are the monsters parents warn their children about at night.” She points a finger at him, sparks dancing down her arm as she fights to keep from just blasting him.  Confident in her magic though she is, she’s well aware _that’s_ not a fight she’ll be winning anytime soon. “My son’s birth father was a werewolf, the monster wizarding parents warn their children about at night, but I made _damn_ sure he knew I didn’t give a flying fuck what any bigots said about them or him.  That he was _mine_ for all that I didn’t birth him myself, and that I’d fight for him until my dying breath.  What did you do, oh King of Asgard? You stole a baby in an attempt to bring two kingdoms together and then did _nothing_ to further that idea!  You let relations with Jotunheim fester to the point where your bloody heir sought to wipe out an entire people because they interrupted his fucking coronation!”

“You dare—!”

“Yes I bloody well dare!” she screams. “I _married_ him, Odin Allfather!  That makes him _mine_ !  Mine to protect, mine to love, and mine to fix because of your bloody fucking mistakes!  Because I know a fucking thing or two about growing up always being second best for something you aren’t even aware of!  Of being judged because of what you were born as! Of being judged about something as fucking simple as your _blood_.”

Up until this point, Frigga hasn’t interjected in the slightest.  She just lets Evelyn hurl insult after insult at her husband. Now, however, she steps forward.  Evelyn does notice that she doesn’t position herself beside Odin. No, Frigga stands on her own. “What exactly do you mean by that, child?”

“How knowledgeable are you about the wizarding world’s current prejudices?” Evelyn asks instead of answering, not even protesting being called ‘child’.  To Frigga, practically everyone is a child. She just doesn’t sound condescending about it like Odin.

“More so than my husband.”

“Then you’ll understand what I’m about to say,” Evelyn says, only just resisting the urge to sneer at Odin again. “The first year of my life was actually full of love and laughter.  I had parents who adored me, and uncles and aunts who loved me just as much. Then a fucking megalomaniac took it upon himself to destroy all that simply because of this stupid belief that one ought to be judged by the purity of one’s blood rather than one’s accomplishments.  And my father, though he was pure of blood, was cut down because he chose to take a _mudblood_ as a wife and stood in the man’s fucking way.  My mother fell the same way, and when the bastard tried to kill me, his curse rebounded and robbed him of a body.

“After that I was placed into the ever loving care of my mother’s sister who quite frankly despised both my mother and myself.  I lived in a cupboard underneath their stairs, and, until I was five and started going to school, quite honestly thought my name was Freak because that was all they’d ever call me.  My aunt and uncle tried to beat what they called my ‘freakishness’ out of me, and greatly encouraged my cousin and his friends in their many games of Evie Hunting. I endured all this because I didn’t know any better.  That all changed, of course, on my eleventh birthday when I was suddenly informed that I wasn’t a freak, I was a _witch_ , and my parents weren’t drunken wastes of space like my dear aunt and uncle would have me believe.  In fact, my father was a Lord and my mother the brightest witch of her age, to say nothing of the fact that they both graduated top of their class and my father went on to become one of the best Hit Wizards involved in that particular war while my mother was pursuing a Mastery before my arrival.

“Now let’s move onto my Hogwarts years, shall we?” She grins viciously, thoroughly enjoying the way Odin’s paling the further into her story she goes.  Frigga’s expression is almost carefully blank, but she kids herself into believing she doesn’t care what the Queen thinks of her life story. “My first year I came face to face with the wraith of Tom Marvolo Riddle, the megalomaniac who’d killed my parents, as he attempted to steal a stone with the supposed power to make him immortal and give him a body again.  Second year I came face to face with the sixteen year old memory of Riddle preserved in a diary for fifty years and a basilisk that Slytherin got from Merlin knows where hidden beneath the school. The fucking snake even _bit_ me.  I only survived because the Headmaster’s phoenix cried for me.  My third year I got to deal with learning that the murdering raving lunatic who’d broken out of prison and reportedly coming after me was my godfather and supposedly the one who’d betrayed my parents to Riddle.  Turns out the man who actually betrayed them was hiding as one of my friends’ pet rat. Fourth year I got forcibly entered into a bloody tournament that had me facing nesting mother dragons, diving into a lake full of merfolk to rescue a friend in the dead of winter, and ended with me being part of a dark ritual to give Riddle a fucking new body and dueling the bastard before I was able to run away.  Fifth year the Ministry refused to believe anything I said about Riddle’s return, and I ended up with the words _I must not tell lies_ carved into the back of my bloody hand because the cowardly Minister’s loyal toady _bitch_ had a personal vendetta against me.  Not to mention, because of my own stupidity, I got my godfather killed when he tried to rescue me from a trap I walked into.  That’s also when I finally learned why Riddle wanted _me_ in particular dead.” Her smile is deadly and sharp and broken, and she relishes the flinch it produces from Odin. “I destroyed the Headmaster’s office after learning that particular tidbit of information.  Sixth year ended with Riddle’s merry band of followers invading Hogwarts and the Headmaster dying at the hands of his own fucking spy. My seventh year didn’t even happen, given that I was on the run the entire time.  I spent a good chunk of that time with a Horcrux around my neck. A Horcrux, by the way, is a truly bastardized version of Soul Magic where someone breaks their soul into pieces via murder to anchor said soul to the land of the living.  It’s what the diary was in my second year. They like to try and take over your mind. In the end, I finally did kill Riddle, though not without dying myself. You see, Riddle had unintentionally made me a Horcrux.” Her hand unconsciously drifts up so she can run her fingers over the lightning bolt carved into her forehead. “It’s what gave me my scar.  He killed me and the piece of his soul stuck in me, but my blood was running through his veins because of my parts in his resurrection. That tied me to land of the living and gave me the ability to return.”

She inhales and exhales deeply, then pins a truly scathing look on Odin. “So explain something to me, Odin Allfather.  How is it that I came out of all of that relatively fine with barely any homicidal tendencies at all while your _son_ ,” she spits out the word like it’s a curse, “who by your reckoning was loved the entirety of his life, felt the need to prove his worth to you.  That he would feel he had to go to such extremes as he did, using the Bifrost to literally _destroy_ the Realm of his birth, all to get you to even acknowledge his existence beyond being a pawn for your scheming?  Tell me why you raised him for a throne you never even intended to give him!” She goes quiet then, chest heaving as she stares down the King of Asgard.

Loki is a solid warmth against her back, not having said a single word since he calmed her the once.  His magic is tangled with hers, grounding her from flying any further off the handle than she already has.  The hand latched onto her hip is almost painfully tight.

Odin clears his throat, eye darting briefly to his stone-faced wife. “Regardless of what you may think, everything I have done I have done to keep my sons, both of them, safe.  That includes hiding the truth of Loki’s parentage.”

Evelyn can feel her husband’s sharp intake of breath at that pronouncement. “You may claim to have kept the truth from him for his safety, but that decision is what caused the start of this whole mess to begin with!” she snaps back. “He _hated_ himself because of that!  You have _no_ idea how utterly shattered he was when we first met!  It took me forever to pick up the pieces and even begin to heal him!  I’m still bloody working on it!” Loki’s grip on her hip tightens just enough to send a jolt of pain down her leg, but all she does is lay her own hand over it. “Just so you know, the first time I ever told him I loved him, he looked me in the eye and asked me how I could bear to love a _monster_.”

“Oh my son,” Frigga breathes, looking at the two of them with tears in her eyes.

“I found him when he was at his lowest, and _I_ built him back up.  I will _not_ have you undoing all my work, Allfather.  I love Loki will all my heart and soul, and will love him no matter what, be he Odinson, Laufeyson, or even Friggason.  So I suggest you get used to the idea I won’t stand silent should I disagree with any of your _suggestions_ concerning my husband.” She draws in a rattling breath, the tears she’s been fighting back finally getting the better of her. “ _Loki_ ,” she chokes out.

Her darling husband immediately understands that she’s reached her limit and whisks her away without a word.

 

* * *

 

Sif heard about the unknown arrival because the guards can gossip worse than the ladies of court, but it’s not until she meets up with Thor that her suspicions are confirmed.  He’s grinning brightly and there’s a bounce in his step that can only mean good news. And the only good news he’s been waiting for is the arrival of Loki’s wife.

“She is here, then?” she asks before he can say anything.

Thor laughs, not even bothering to question how she knows.  He’s just as aware of the guards’ tendency to gossip as her. “Indeed she is.  Loki took her to meet with Mother for lunch.”

Sif lets her expression soften into a warm smile, an action she rarely indulges in. “I am glad.  Both for you and for Loki. When do you—”

She’s interrupted when, in a whirlwind of magic, Loki and a red-haired woman abruptly appear in the middle of the training field.  The woman chokes out a sob, collapsing to the ground as she buries her face in her hands. Loki follows her down, wrapping his arms around her and rocking her back and forth.

“What happened?” Thor demands, knees hitting the ground with a dull _thud_ as he drops down beside them.  His hands dart out like he wants to gather them close and shield them from whatever is hurting them.

Loki lifts his head just enough for Sif to see the look of loathing painted across her prince’s face. “ _Odin_ happened,” he spits out like a curse.  This, in turn, sets his wife off. A scream of fury and anger and pain and heartbreak tears through the air, rattling Sif more than she cares to admit.  Loki’s wife screams and screams and _screams_ , pouring out a seemingly endless amount of frustration.  It’s only when the hairs on Sif’s arms start standing on end that she realizes the woman is doing more than just merely screaming.  She has magick, same as Loki, and it’s churning dangerously unseen in the training ground around them.

“Evelyn—” Thor starts just as Sif’s ears start threatening to pop from the pressure.

“I can’t believe the utter _gall_ of him!” she shrieks, eyes as emerald green as Loki’s blazing with untold fury when she lifts her head. “The _utter_ —Merlin and Morgana, he wasn’t even fucking apologetic!  About anything!”

“I hadn’t expected anything different,” Loki states flatly, weaving a hand through his wife’s hair.

“Father joined you for lunch, then?” Thor asks softly.  There’s something about his tone that sets Sif’s teeth on edge.  Then again, she’s never heard either prince talk disrespectfully about their father and her King before, and yet the mere mention of Odin seems to raise Loki’s hackles to dangerous levels.

“No, thank the stars, he did _not_ ,” Evelyn snarls through bared teeth.  She’s panting, her chest heaving after her display. “He decided to _grace_ us with his presence after we’d eaten.  I rather took exception to that idea, and informed him of such.  Also told him that I will bloody well _not_ stay silent if I think he’s trying to mess with my husband and to watch his step otherwise.”

“I do appreciate the warning,” Thor says a touch dryly. “I’d like some more time still before I must take up the throne, though, if you would.”

Sif’s jaw nearly drops at the casual discussion of Odin’s untimely death.

Evelyn snorts, much of her anger draining away. “Just get your mother to sit on the throne then until you feel ready.  I’ve only got one issue with her, and it has nothing to do with her ability to rule. She’d probably enjoy being able to put any annoying members of your court in their places.”

“Mother can already do that, and is quite skilled at doing so.  Who do you think taught Loki all he knows?” Thor teases.

“Hmm, well, hopefully she won’t think too badly of me after that tirade I threw at her husband,” Evelyn huffs, leaning into Loki’s embrace. “Even if he did deserve every last word of it.” Her gaze darts around, only just now taking in her surroundings.  When emerald eyes land on Sif, she bolts upright with a startled squawk. “You didn’t say you were with Sif!” She sends a pointed glare at Thor, who merely blinks.

“I was more concerned about you,” he returns. “But Sif is a true and trusted friend of mine.  She offered her blade to you to aide in dealing with the madman out for you blood without even having met you.”

Evelyn groans almost dramatically, dragging a hand down her face. “Thor, you utter idiot, I just ranted and raved about her King in front of her!  That’s not normally considered a good first impression!”

Sif squares her shoulders, having caught one specific tidbit of information amidst all the screaming that now itches at her conscious. “You mentioned something about King Odin doing something to Prince Loki, about him interfering in some way.”

Evelyn regards her almost warily for a long moment before explaining. “One thing in particular that I rather dislike about Odin’s parenting skills is the fact that he expects Loki to be just a great a warrior as Thor.  The idea itself is fine, it’s how he goes about expressing his opinions about it that makes me want to hit him.” She jerks her chin up defiantly. “Loki will never be a warrior like Thor anymore than you will be a maiden who tends to hearth and home.  It’s not in his nature. He is not built for it either. To try and force it out of him would lead to breaking him in both spirit and body, and _that_ is something I refuse to allow.”

Sif jerks as if Evelyn had slapped her.  She’d honestly never thought about it that way, and now she’s angry with herself that she hadn’t.  It’s true, after all. She’s defying tradition just as much as Loki is. She as a female warrior, and him being male and yet studying magicks to the extent that he is.  To think that the notion never occurred to her is shaming, actually.

“I see.”

And indeed she does see.  For all the magicks that Evelyn possesses, Sif can see a fierceness about her fit for any warrior gracing the battlefield.  It’s a fierceness that Sif sees in herself, the willingness to stand her ground and cut down any and all who get in her way.  Now she truly understands what Thor meant by her and Evelyn getting along. She finds herself rather eager to get to know the fierce warrior woman who has so captured Loki’s heart.

And the spreading smile on Evelyn’s lips tells Sif that she feels exactly the same.


	10. Flush with Fever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You are my future daughter's cousin, then?” Frigga inquires, finally speaking.  Her expression is rather alarmingly blank, and Dudley mercifully notices.
> 
> “I am,” he returns warily.
> 
> “And did she ask you to come with her?”
> 
> He gives a jerky nod. “She did.”
> 
> “And you came even with the history between you?”
> 
> Dudley inhales sharply, and it’s only because Thor steps forward to lay a hand on his shoulder that Sif doesn’t lurch forward herself. “The mistakes I made as a child are ones I’m still trying to repay, not that Eve makes it easy to do so.  If that means following her to different worlds, then so be it.  I’ve been behind her ever since I finally realized that my parents’ version of normal is not something I want to aspire towards.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for how long it’s taken to get this chapter out.  My muse decided to go on an extended vacation without me halfway through, as I discovered it was harder writing from Sif’s point of view than I’d originally thought.  Not the happiest with how it turned out, but the muse would abandon me anytime I tried something new, so I eventually just said ‘screw it!’. Enjoy!

The smile slides off Evelyn’s face as she lets out a groan, slumping back against Loki. “Shit, I’m Sokovia tired.”

Sif understands that Evelyn must mean she’s a specific kind of tired, but its true meaning is lost to her.  She’s never heard of this ‘Sokovia’ before. Apparently Thor is just as lost, seeing as he tilts his head to the side and repeats back, “Sokovia tired?”

A grimace flashes across Evelyn’s face. “It’s just a random thing I started doing to clarify how much magic I’ve used.” She smiles weakly. “There’s Hogwarts tired, Sokovia tired, Nivadelir tired, and finally Vanaheim tired.”

“If you _ever_ make yourself Vanaheim tired again, we will have _words_ ,” Loki spits through clenched teeth.

Evelyn snorts. “Darling, if I manage to make myself Vanaheim tired, the Realms had better be collapsing again.  Otherwise I’m just plain suicidal.” When Thor shifts his weight, Evelyn immediately fixes him with a _look_ that Sif usually only sees on Loki that judges the recipient's intelligence and often finds it lacking.  She pulls it off rather well. “If you’re going to ask if my exhaustion was your fault, don’t. You’re actually the reason I didn’t end up killing myself.” She scrubs a hand over her face. “If you hadn’t been holding the Gate open, I would’ve drained myself long before the Realm collapsed because I somehow managed to stupidly intertwine my magic with the Gate itself.  Just—” Her breath hitches momentarily. “Just _please_ don’t—” She presses the heels of her palms to her eyes. “I felt you _die_ ,” she finally chokes out, “and I can’t—”

Thor makes a wounded noise in the back of his throat, immediately reaching for Evelyn.  All things considered, Sif is surprised when Loki actually lets her go. Evelyn curls up in Thor’s arms like she just fits there, and although Sif has somewhat seen the affection between her and Loki, has heard from Thor’s own lips that she is but a sister to him, the sight still tugs uneasily at her heart.  She tells herself it’s just seeing an unknown woman being so comfortable and at ease with her princes.

Loki gets to his feet and walks over to her, touching a hand briefly to the small of her back as he steers her away from the two. “They’ll be done in a minute,” he says softly, “but Evelyn will be even more embarrassed if she realizes there was an audience to her break down.”

Sif wobbles slightly as the reality of what Evelyn said just moments before truly settles in. “She felt him—”

“Yes, she felt him die,” Loki states flatly, “and it took her nearly a month to even begin to recover from that.  She threw herself into trying to find a cure to save Banner in an attempt to distract herself, but we still lost him that winter.” He exhales harshly. “We just continued to lose people after that until we were the only ones left.”

Sif finds herself reaching out to grab ahold of Loki’s shoulder without conscious thought. “I may have only told Thor this, but I spoke truly when I said that my blade is yours and his when it comes to your wife.  I will protect her with my life should you require it.”

“I appreciate that,” he returns with a dip of his head. “However, I would advise against informing Evelyn.” His face twists into something horribly broken as he glances back towards her and his brother. “She has had far too many people die for her that it will only distress her right now.”

“Death is inevitable in war,” Sif points out. “I knew that the instant I took up a blade.”

“She had _nothing_ growing up, Sif,” Loki practically spits back. “No love, no true family.  How badly then would you imagine she’d cling to anyone who shows her even a scrap of affection?  And just what exactly she’d do to ensure that no one she’d claimed as _hers_ was ever taken away from her?  Or how badly she would break if they were?”

Sif actually pauses to think about it.  She recalls how, just moments ago, Evelyn had seemed to be unconsciously throwing about what Sif considers an obscene amount of magick and she’d only been experiencing a controlled anger of sorts.  Of course, her anger had been on Loki’s behalf, so that kind of explains the amount of magick being used. It makes Sif shudder to even begin to imagine what might happen it Evelyn truly lost control. “She doesn’t know me,” she protests for all that the excuse sounds weak even to her ears.

“She knows you,” Loki corrects her almost wryly. “Thor talked of you near constantly whenever he had time with her.  You and Mother. Evelyn wasn’t overly happy that she didn’t get the chance to meet either of you, so she’ll probably attempt to make up for what she considers lost time.  Anything you are willing to teach her will be greatly received.”

Now it’s Sif’s turn to bow her head.  She does it a bit more deeply than Loki did to her, as she’s acknowledging her prince.  Because he’s _her_ prince just as much as Thor is, she’s coming to realize.  Hers in that she will follow him for more than just duty. Hers because they are far more alike that she’d originally noticed, she and him.  And so he’s becoming hers to protect and defend and stand by just as with Thor. Perhaps, in some instances, even more so than Thor, for Loki understands her in ways that Thor never will be able to.

Of course, the moment, like most moments, is broken.  Only this interruption scares Sif far more than she’ll ever care to admit.

“Brother!” The sheer amount of panic in Thor’s voice as he calls for Loki lodges itself in Sif’s heart as she sprints back the short distance to where Thor is still kneeling.  Only, all is most definitely not as it should be. Cradled in Thor’s arms is a red haired child, cheeks flush with fever while glazed green eyes lazily drift closed just as Loki hits his knees beside them.  Her clothes are the same as when she was grown, but how Evelyn changed from a grown woman to a sickly child, Sif doesn’t know. And neither, by the looks of it, does Thor.

“The pendant,” Loki says in a hushed tone, reaching out to touch a stone that rests innocently in the hollow of Evelyn’s throat, bound to a simple gold chain. “She mentioned this.” His brow furrows. “But I thought she would have more time.”

“She needs to see Eir,” Sif insists, already worried about the fever gripping the woman she just met.  She’ll deal with the details of how and why concerning the age change later. Right now she just wants to get Evelyn to the best Healer she knows.

That, fortunately, seems to snap Thor out of the daze of panic he’d fallen into. “Of course.” He immediately gets to his feet, holding Evelyn carefully to his chest.  Now it’s Loki who seems to have fallen into a daze, as he’s not displaying any amount of panic when just minutes before he’d been furiously worried about Evelyn’s state of being.  At least, that’s what Sif believes until she walks closer and sees him shaking. His eyes are squeezed shut, but there’s a hint of tears lingering on his lashes.

“Loki,” she says softly, touching his arm gently.  He just grits his teeth, seemingly bowing even further into himself.  She nods sharply, decided. Well then. She just take matters into her own hands. “To the Healing Hall,” she instructs firmly.  Thor needs no further prompting, turning on his heel and starting a fast clip towards the palace. Sif takes hold of Loki’s arm and uses that to make sure he keeps pace with her as she follows behind Thor.  She thinks he’d continue to follow if she let go, but she isn’t quite willing to take that chance.

Mercifully, the Healing Hall is on this side of the palace, nor do they run into any members of court who would attempt to stop and question them.  Sif doesn’t even want to begin to consider what Thor might do if someone tries to keep him from getting Evelyn to help. It’s only when the doors to the Healing Hall are within sight that she let’s go of hold on Loki, and only so she is able to hurry ahead and get the door for Thor.

“Eir!” she calls out, even as the heads of all the Healers turn in her direction.  She spots Eir at the end of the Hall, already standing and making her way towards them.

“Lady Sif, what has Prince Thor—” Eir begins, most likely assuming that Thor hurt himself somehow, only to abruptly cut herself short at the sight of Evelyn cradled in Thor’s arms. “Stars,” the Healer breathes, a horrified expression flickering briefly across her face before it settles into calm determination. “Lay the child here, my prince.” Eir directs him to one of the smaller beds.

Sif turns away from them only to see Loki frozen in the doorway.  With an irritated huff, she marches over and drags him to Evelyn’s bedside. “Stay here and listen to what Eir says we must do for Evelyn,” she instructs while pushing him into the chair usually used by the parents of the child getting healed, feeling as though her prince needs to be told what to do right now.  In most other situations, she wouldn’t dare, at least not with Loki. This isn’t most situations. If anything, he reminds her of battled shocked warriors who’ve reached their limit. She’s just thankful he isn’t lashing out. Only once she gets a flicker of recognition from him does she look to Thor. “You will stay with him?”

His brow furrows as he regards her with confusion. “You are leaving?”

“I intend to find the Queen,” she explains softly. “They both would benefit from a mother’s love and touch right now, I believe.” Her lips twist into a tight smile. “And I am not the best at the sort of comfort your brother requires at the moment.”

Thor exhales explosively. “Aye, neither of us truly are,” he agrees with a pained look.  Then he blinks and a thoughtful expression crosses his face. “After you find my mother, might you stop by my chambers and inform Evelyn’s cousin of what happened?  They arrived together, but Dudley was overwhelmed so I offered my rooms as a refuge for him to recuperate in. He will want to know what has befallen his cousin.”

“Of course,” she replies with a dip of her head. “I’ll return as quickly as possible.”

“Thank you,” he whispers, and it takes nearly all of her self control not to react as she walks away.  While she knows that Thor values her, Fandral, Volstagg, and Hogun, very rarely does he voice it and mean it with a true sincerity.  Still, it is enough for her to keep her head high as she makes her way to the gardens the Queen frequents.

“Is the Queen here?” she demands of the guards before entering.  No use going in if Queen Frigga isn’t even here. She hopes she is.  Sif has no desire to go hunting through the entire palace, but she will if that’s what it takes.

“She is, but has requested not to be disturbed,” one guard informs her.

“I have news concerning Prince Thor and Prince Loki,” she retorts. “Her presence is requested in the Healing Hall.”

That immediately makes both stand up straighter. “Did something happen to the Princes?” It’s been some time since either managed to land themselves there, so of course their concern is warranted.  Especially given that both avoid the Healing Hall if at all possible.

Sif shakes her head. “Not to them, to Prince Loki’s guest.  It has him agitated, however, and I felt Queen Frigga’s presence might calm him some.  May I enter to inform her of such?”

“No need.” Sif’s head snaps up at the sound of her Queen’s voice.  Frigga approaches with a quiet dignity Sif always envies. “What is this I hear of my future daughter in the Healing Hall so shortly after I last saw her?”

“We’re not entirely sure, my Queen, but she collapsed suddenly and was flushed with fever.  I had Thor bring her to the Healing Hall and had to make sure Loki followed us. It seems as though he’s retreating within himself.” She explains all this as they walk swiftly towards the Healing Hall.  Sif does make sure to keep an eye out for when she’ll need to excuse herself to head to Thor’s chambers.

Frigga sighs softly. “That, unfortunately, does not surprise me.  He is not lashing out, though?”

“He had not yet when I left to fetch you,” Sif replies. “Thor remained to help if he does.”

“Good, good,” Frigga murmurs. “Now, you say Evelyn has developed a fever?”

“Aye, she did.” Sif considers something before adding, “After throwing about a considerable about of magic.  I do not know the price such actions would invoke, but perhaps…” She trails off with a half hearted shrug, unsure of her assumption.

“Perhaps indeed.  In any event, you have my thanks for coming to fetch me.”

“Of course.” Sif inclines her head as a full bow is rather difficult while walking.  They round a corner, and Sif realizes that this is where they’ll have to part ways. “Forgive me, but Thor requested I go inform Evelyn’s cousin of what happened before I return to the Healing Hall.”

That, surprisingly, earns her a sharp look. “I see.” What she sees, Sif has no clue, but she isn’t about to tell her Queen that. “Should he wish to see my future daughter to assure himself of her health, he is welcome to join us in the Healing Hall.”

While Sif might be more of a warrior than a diplomat, it isn’t hard to discern that that was more of an order than a suggestion.  Also, Frigga seems very intent on pointing out the fact that Evelyn will be her daughter one day. Why, Sif doesn’t quite understand, but it isn’t her place to question.  Instead, she just bows with a murmured, “My Queen,” before starting on her way to Thor’s temporary chambers, as his usual ones are still being repaired.

Upon reaching the door, she knocks once in warning before pushing it open.  The sight that greets her stops her in her tracks. The child in Thor’s chambers is the opposite of Evelyn in every way imaginable.  Male, for starters, and he doesn’t even appear to notice as she slips into the room. Sif knows that Evelyn would’ve been aware of her the instance she knocked.  And while the motions he’s going through look rather well learned, his body is not yet used to them given the sweat clinging to him and the way his rather large limbs are shaking.

She waits for him to pause before calling out, “Dudley?”

Evelyn’s cousin jumps, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste as he spins to face her. “Wha—Who are you?” he yelps, eyes wide with wariness and just a touch of fear.

“My name is Sif Tyrdottir,” she says, holding up her hands to show she has no weapons in them. “Thor sent me.  Your cousin, Evelyn, is currently in our Healing Hall with a fever.”

His suspicious expression immediately goes flat as he drags a hand down his face. “Of course she is,” he mutters. “God damn it, Eve, can’t you go _anywhere_ without landing yourself in the hospital?”

That, of course, catches Sif’s attention. “This is normal?” she inquires, wondering at his lack of panic.

“She joked enough about practically having an assigned bed in the infirmary at her school because she always managed to end up in there at least once per school year.” He groans, scrubbing a hand through sweat soaked hair. “She’s a Potter, they do insane, crazy shite and somehow manage to come out the other end in relatively one piece.  Maybe a bit battered and bruised, but God I wish I knew how they did it. I just gave up trying to tell her ‘no, don’t do the stupid thing’ cause she’d just go off and do it anyway, and _then_ she’d be smug about it for months afterwards.”

Well, Sif muses a bit despairingly to herself, it’s really not surprising in the least that Loki fell for a woman with such obscure luck.  Of course, that will make keeping Evelyn safe all the more difficult. Still, Sif has never been one to back down from a challenge, and this one will certainly see her entertained for years to come.

“My condolences,” she says a touch dryly.  Dudley just snorts. “However, an offer has been made for you to accompany me to the Healing Hall to see for yourself that your cousin is in good hands.”

He blinks, head tilting slightly as he muses over her words.  Then his expression morphs into exasperated knowing. “It wasn’t really an _offer_ , was it?”

Sif makes herself exhale slowly. “It was not.”

He grumbles something under his breath that Sif doesn’t catch. “Unfortunately, I’m currently covered in sweat, and I know that Eve would give me a right bollocking if I ever showed up to her hospital with the intent to visit while absolutely filthy.  I can’t imagine that your head doc will be any different.”

Sif concedes to herself that he does have a point. “Perhaps, but Healer Eir is used to dealing with injured warriors fresh off the field.  There are bathing facilities in the Healing Hall.”

Dudley sighs. “Guess there’s no point in delaying, then.” He half-heartedly waves a hand at the door. “You lead and I’ll follow.”

Sif nods sharply, then turns on her heel and heads back out.  She holds the door open for Dudley before starting off at a brisk clip towards the Healing Hall.  She doesn’t go too quickly, not knowing Dudley’s endurance levels, but she’s still a bit anxious to get back and see Evelyn with her own two eyes.  Despite having only known about her for a couple of days and just having met her an hour previous, Sif isn’t too surprised that she’s already placed Evelyn as one of _her_ people.  Right now it’s mostly because Evelyn is Loki’s, but she doesn’t doubt that Evelyn will quickly manage that by her own worth.

“Ho there, Sif!”

And of course her luck at avoiding people has come to an end.

Forcing back the urge to grit her teeth, Sif doesn’t bother turning as she calls back, “Fandral, I have no time for you at the moment.  I’m expected in the Healing Hall.”

There’s the hurried sound of clanking boots before Fandral asks breathlessly, “Has something happened to Thor?”

“And who’s this wee friend of yours?” Volstagg adds, causing Dudley to let out a startled _meep_.

“Nothing has happened to Thor or _Loki_ ,” Sif stresses the name of their second prince, causing Fandral to give her a surprised look that she only just sees out of the corner of her eye. “However, their guest developed an unexpected fever, hence why I am bringing her cousin along so that he may see for himself that she is being cared for.” Now she’s the one shooting Fandral a _look_. “Queen Frigga insisted, as she was who I was sent to fetch first.” She’s rather pleased when stark understanding flashes across her fellow warrior’s face and he subdues.  Very few things can truly tame Fandral these days, but the Queen thankfully is one of them. “You may accompany us to the Healing Hall, but don’t expect Thor to be willing to leave with you.  He’s rather protective of his brother and their guest.”

“And would said guest be the one who all the guards are still gossiping about?” Volstagg inquires knowingly.

“You would be correct.” Sif offers no further knowledge than that as they’ve reached the Healing Hall.  The doors are open and she can see Thor, Loki, and Frigga by the bed that Evelyn’s in. Frigga is sitting beside Loki, an arm wrapped around his shoulders, while Thor paces the length of the bed in slow, measured steps.  Sif hears Dudley inhale sharply before he hurries past her.

“How is she?”

Sif finds it a bit telling that Dudley immediately looks to Thor for an answer.  She also notes that for all that he appears to want to reach out and take Evelyn’s hand, he doesn’t.

“Healer Eir says that it’s not a high fever,” Thor assures him, and Sif can’t help her soft sigh of relief. “She’s just stressed herself enough that her body finally couldn’t keep up with her demands.  She will be well within a day or two.”

Dudley collapses onto the bed next to Evelyn’s. “She was _told_ she had to rest, but did she?  No, of course not,” he mutters. “Bloody Potters and their bloody stubbornness.”

That makes Loki’s head snap up. “She was _what_?” he demands, finally coming back to life.

Dudley jumps at the sudden demand, but rallies himself reasonably well. “We had a Valkyrie come to us two days ago.  She took a piece of soul out of Eve’s forehead and warned her that she’d be tired and weak afterwards. That she shouldn’t use magic for a while until she recovered enough.”

Sif has a rather abrupt need to sit down, and only Hogun appearing at her side keeps her from dropping inelegantly to the floor.  A piece of _soul_ stuck in her.  Sif remembers the stories.  It’s one of the many warnings that go along with the risks of Soul and Death Magic.  The risk of splintering your soul, and the utter agony it causes is enough to deter most people from develling any further.  The knowledge that Evelyn had someone’s soul stuck in her because they were willing to risk that is sickening.

“Somehow, that does not surprise me,” Thor says wryly, tossing a fond yet exasperated look at the girl curled up in the other bed. “Unfortunately, she is not one to care for herself as much as her companions.”

“Yeah, and that would be my fucking parents’ fault,” Dudley grumbles, staring determinedly at the floor.

“You are my future daughter's cousin, then?” Frigga inquires, finally speaking.  Her expression is rather alarmingly blank, and Dudley mercifully notices.

“I am,” he returns warily.

“And did she ask you to come with her?”

He gives a jerky nod. “She did.”

“And you came even with the history between you?”

Dudley inhales sharply, and it’s only because Thor steps forward to lay a hand on his shoulder that Sif doesn’t lurch forward herself. “The mistakes I made as a child are ones I’m still trying to repay, not that Eve makes it easy to do so.  If that means following her to different _worlds_ , then so be it.  I’ve been behind her ever since I finally realized that my parents’ version of normal is _not_ something I want to aspire towards.”

“Evelyn mentioned the same to me,” Loki adds softly, reaching out to take one of Evelyn’s hands in his own. “Rest assured, I will no more allow you to return than I would her.”

Dudley chuckles weakly. “Yeah, I don’t think any of us want to see what would happen if that happened.” He stretches his arms above his head before looking over to Sif again. “You mentioned something about a bath?”

“I’ll take you,” Thor offers.

"Thanks."

  


	11. Doctors make the worst patients

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An amused smile spreads across the woman’s lips, and Frigga wonders at the familiarity of it. “I am a Valkyrie for Lady Hela. As Evelyn Rosalie Potter is Lady Hela’s Avatar, I am well within my rights to check on her wellbeing. Besides,” Here the woman’s expression softens into fond longing as she looks back to the sleeping pair, “I wanted to be able to see her one last time before I continued on my way.” She sighs, feathers shifting silently when she turns her back to the bed. “As to how I managed to get in here without waking your son, well…” Frigga is now graced with a smirk she normally only sees on Loki, yet does not look misplaced on this unknown woman. “We Queens do have to have our own little secrets, do we not?”
> 
> “You are Royal?”
> 
> “By blood and by marriage. Not that it truly matters either way.”
> 
> “And I suppose you will not give me your name?”
> 
> “I will not. Not yet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, not the length I’d originally hoped for, but hey, it’s a chapter! Enjoy!

Loki watches Thor lead Dudley to the bathing area, though he’s mostly focused on the pulse beating out a steady tempo under his fingertips.

“He is not what I expected,” Frigga murmurs once the two disappear from sight.

“You only heard Evelyn rant of their childhood together,” Loki informs her. “She was very adamant that he was just as much a victim of his parents behavior as she was.  The abuse they dealt him only became apparent once he stopped blindly following their lead.”

“Abuse?” On the other side of the bed Hogun has to swiftly steer Sif to a chair as her legs finally give out on her.  She’d rallied after the mention of the soul shard in Evelyn’s forehead, but adding on the knowledge that she was abused is apparently too much for the female warrior.

“She is a wee little thing,” Volstagg comments, brow furrowed in clear distaste. “You say her relatives were not kind to her?”

Loki barks out a bitter laugh, unable to help himself. “In her own words she told me that she was treated no better than a thrall.  She was kept in a cupboard underneath their stairs until the age of eleven, was made to do most of the household chores when she reached age five, and her aunt forced her to keep her hair cropped short.  All because she has magic while they do not, and they never even had the decency to tell her that. They just acted like she was the same as filth underneath their boots until she grew up and came into her own.”

“Loki, she _is_ a child still,” Fandral says slowly.

“In body only,” Loki throws back with a sneer. “Or are you so inept that you haven’t yet heard of my usage of Soul Magic?”

Hogun speaks before a red faced Fandral can. “We’ve heard.  We simply didn’t know that she,” he nods at Evelyn, “was a part of it.  All we knew was that you and Thor remembered years not yet passed.”

“She is the main reason my son used Soul Magic,” Frigga interjects, sobering Fandral immediately, “so we are all a little protective of my future daughter at the moment.”

All of the Warriors Three blink and look at Evelyn in mild disbelief, but only Hogun and Fandral glance in the direction Thor went.  Volstagg, instead, fixes a rather knowing look on Loki, much to his surprise. “My congratulations, then, my prince. She makes you happy?”

“Very,” Loki chokes out, his grip on Evelyn’s hand tightening minutely.  It’s then that he remembers that Volstagg is the only one of the three married.  That for all their keen eyes on the battlefield, Hogun and Fandral don’t quite know the tells of marriage just yet.

“Goo ‘ser.”

Evelyn’s slurred words make Loki fly out of his chair, nearly elbowing his mother in the face as he goes.

“Alskling?” He hesitantly reaches out to touch his fingertips to her still flushed cheek.  Her lashes flutter as she attempts to open her eyes. Glazed over green darts around aimlessly trying to place where she is. “You’re in the Healing Hall,” Loki informs her softly.

Her nose crunches up. “ _Why_?” she whines in clear displeasure.

“You’re sick, sweetling,” Frigga says, having moved so she can settle on the other side of the bed opposite Loki.  She tenderly runs a hand over Evelyn’s sweaty brow. “You collapsed after developing a fever.”

Evelyn blinks up at Frigga in obvious confusion. “‘Ki, Mum’s with Mum.  Did I _die_?”

Loki has to briefly squeeze his eyes shut to try and fight back tears. “No, lovely, you didn’t die.  I used Soul Magic, remember? My mother is still alive and well.”

She jerks her chin down. “‘Cept mine isn’t.  I’d’ve gone _splode_ otherwise.” She wrinkles her nose again, pouting heavily. “‘M never gonna have a mum, am I?  Just a freak.”

“Go to sleep, alskling,” Loki murmurs, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead and slip a minor sleeping spell over her.  She’s still tired enough that it takes effect almost immediately. Her eyes drift shut again and Loki hefts himself back upright. “Stars, I didn’t think that’d ever slip out again.” He drags a hand tiredly down his face.

“Loki, what did she mean by that?” Frigga all but demands.

He huffs out a small sigh, never liking remembering this. “She has never had a true mother figure.  Of the two who might have been, one was apparently ridiculously overbearing, and the other fled to reclaim her life shortly after the conclusion of the war.  She never begrudged the second woman that choice, but she refused to bow to the whims of the first.” He reaches out to brush a stray curl away from her sweaty forehead, only for Frigga to grab ahold of his wrist.  He looks up at her, startled.

“My son, why did she think she had _died_ when she saw me?”

Loki abruptly feels his stomach heave.

Apparently, neither he nor Thor have mentioned the fact that Frigga herself had died.  A quick glance shows that, no, Thor is _not_ coming back anytime soon, and he knows his mother too well.  She will not wait.

“Leave us,” he bites out through clenched teeth, locking eyes with Sif.  A look of dawning horror has already started to slowly slip over her face, but it disappears behind a blank expression as she jerks her head downwards.  She manages to kajole the Warriors Three out of the infirmary without too much protesting on their part. It only takes one pointed threat from Sif and an equally pointed look from Loki to do the trick.  Once they’re gone, he throws up a subtle muffling ward. “You died,” he states bluntly, for all that the words tear at his heart. “You died when Malekith tried to take Asgard, and Evelyn never actually met you in the time before.  Hela had shielded her from sight against everyone but me, and Evelyn only knew what you looked like because I showed her illusions of you at her request.” He sighs, an uncomfortable lump having lodged itself in his throat. “On top of all of that, she has the unfortunate habit of seeing people long since departed when she has a fever.”

Frigga regards him silently for a moment. “So that is why you refused my touch that morning,” she murmurs. “It would have broken you utterly, would it not have, my son?”

Loki blinks furiously, refusing to give into the tears threatening to fall. “It did.” He’d just managed to escape the worst of the fallout simply by falling asleep(He refuses to admit that he actually fell unconscious from the overload).

His mother sighs delicately. “That does explain why your brother seemed torn between never leaving your side and refusing to allow me to leave his line of sight.” She gives him a sad smile. “I had simply assumed that we had not been able to see each other given the situation, not that there’d been a more permanent separation.”

He badly swallows the sob that tries to claw its way out of his throat. “Thor—Thor is the one who saw your body.  I was never given the opportunity, seeing as I was in a cell at the time.” He inhales sharply, relieved to feel the familiar tingle of Thor’s lightning brushing up against his magic.  He lets the muffling ward drop when Thor hesitates to approach.

Thor, most likely upon seeing Loki’s wet eyes, immediately hurries over. “What happened?” he all but demands.

Loki scrubs at his face, annoyed at his lack of composure for all that the subject discussed would be enough to reduce anyone to tears. “Did you know, brother, that neither of us informed Mother of her death?  That she just now found out because my wife sees _dead_ people when she’s feverish?”

Thor blinks at him, then abruptly sits on the bed nearby. “I—I thought—”

“Yes, well, so did I.” He sighs, letting his gaze drift back to Evelyn.  She’s shifted onto her side and curled up into a ball, all while facing him.  Her magic, what isn’t fighting off the fever, is still reaching out to him. He doesn’t doubt that she’d wake if he tried to leave.

“I apologize that I wasn’t here for that,” Thor murmurs.

Loki immediately waves away the apology. “So long as you handle Sif later, I don’t particularly care.”

“Sif?”

Loki shoots his brother a rather unimpressed look. “Yes, Sif.  Your friend who was here just a few minutes ago? I sent her and the Warriors Three away to talk to Mother in private, but Sif appeared to have already worked out what I was going to tell her.”

Thor exhales explosively, jerking his head down in a nod. “Aye, I’ll speak with her the first chance I get.” He pointedly doesn’t appear to look in Frigga’s direction.  She graciously doesn’t comment on this, simply letting the two of them converse while she continually runs a hand through Evelyn’s curls. She’s who Loki learned to watch and listen from, after all.  It’s how she’s always on top of whatever gossip is circulating through the palace.

“My thanks.”

“May I ask, brother, what your plans are now that Evelyn has come to Asgard?” Thor inquires after a moment’s pause.

It’s a reasonable question, given that he hadn’t been willing to discuss anything beyond Evelyn’s arrival until now. “Firstly, after she’s recovered from this fever, I intend to do something about Sirius Black.”

Thor leans forward, hands clasped together in front of him. “Her godfather, wrongly imprisoned.  Why do I get the feeling, brother, that you don’t intend to just inform the local authorities and have them deal out the proper justice?”

Loki snorts, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “He’s been imprisoned for _ten years_ at this point, Thor.  The local government isn’t about to admit to a mistake that drastic.  It took Evelyn four years to get his name cleared after the end of the war, and that was with her being a celebrated war hero.  If nothing else, we ought to just steal him away ourselves. They all believe him to be a murdering raving lunatic as it is.”

“That is the second time such a description has been used in regards to the man who is my future daughter’s current male guardian,” Frigga interjects, voice soft yet vividly unhappy.  Loki, of course, gets a tiny thrill at her claim to Evelyn, small that it is. “Is such a description true?”

“Mother, Sirius Black gave his _life_ to keep Evelyn safe.  He is no more insane that…” Here Loki trails off, a bitter frown twisting his expression. “He has been shoved and pulled into situations that would break a lesser man and yet he held firm to his sanity, which is more than I can attest to.”

“Brother, what happened on Midgard—” Thor begins.

“I knew _exactly_ what I was getting into, Thor,” Loki spits, eyes ablaze. “I set out to subjugate an entire people!  Again, I might add! That blasted staff only cemented my belief that what I was doing was justified!”

“It is behind us and we need no longer focus on it,” Thor states firmly. “Furthermore, on Midgard it has never actually occurred.  Simply learn from the experience so it does not happen again.”

“If I even remotely consider it, Evelyn will hex me within an inch of my life,” Loki states dryly.

“Which is why it _won’t_ happen and you’ve nothing to worry about.” Thor nods decisively. “And brother, I would cease comparing your experience with that of Sirius Black.  Your two situations are entirely different. The dementors that Evelyn spoke of are fearsome creatures, but you were at the mercy of the Mad Titan for a year.  And on top of that, he wielded the Mind Stone. You were already in a precarious mental state of mind when he came upon you.”

Loki near about jumps out of his skin as Frigga grabs ahold of his wrist again, only this time her grip is painfully tight. “You were in the company of the Mad Titan?”

“Aye, he was,” Thor answers for him, reaching out to gently but firmly make Frigga release her hold on him. “This was after he fell off the bridge.”

“Thanos is moving again?” Frigga demands, letting go but fixing the both of them with startled looks.

Thor exchanges a glance with Loki before pulling their mother to her feet. “Walk with me, and I will tell you all that I know of Thanos.  The Healing Hall is no place for such talk. If we need my brother’s expertise, we can call for him.”

 

* * *

****

When she’s woken up in the middle of the night, it’s from a restless sleep.

Frigga throws a robe over her nightgown before making her way towards her sons’ chambers.  Her thoughts are all a jumble from the talks that happened throughout the course of the afternoon.  To learn that the Mad Titan Thanos is moving about in the shadows is unnerving, to say nothing of the fact that her son was at his mercy for a period of time.  _That_ thought makes her blood boil.

Of course, now she has to go inform said son that his future wife is missing from the Healing Hall.  Thankfully, Eir alerted _her_ first, and not Loki.  Frigga doesn’t even want to begin to imagine the catastrophe that would’ve occurred has Eir been the one to wake Loki and deliver the news.  Still, she is concerned at what his reaction will be. The loyalty and connection between the two is formidable.

The door to Loki’s chambers is slightly ajar, worrying Frigga even more.  She slips inside, only to stop in her tracks at the sight of Evelyn curled up peacefully in Loki’s arms.  Her hair is a shock of red in the otherwise dark room. Loki has an arm slung over her small body, holding her firmly to his chest.

Then something rustles and Frigga startles as gold eyes lock onto her.  So great is her shock that she actually takes a step back. It takes a moment, but then she recognizes the winged woman who had come with Hela two nights ago.  Said woman steps out of the shadows while sparing a passing glance towards Frigga’s sleeping family.

“I knew you’d eventually show up,” she murmurs, coming to a stop just out of arm’s reach.  Moonlight shimmers off her silver armor, casting soft beams of light up onto her face and over her flared wings.  A whisper of magic has an invisible barrier going up between and the bed behind. “I just wasn’t sure how long it’d be.”

Frigga draws herself up, dignity draped over her for all that she lacks the material markings of a Queen. “Who are you and what exactly are you doing in my son’s chambers unannounced?” She frowns. “For that matter, how did you manage to enter without waking him?” Even before the Soul Magic, Frigga has not been able to sneak into Loki’s chambers with him unawares for years.  She would’ve expected for her son to react with deadly force to any who dared entered without his explicit permission, yet he lies deeply asleep still.

An amused smile spreads across the woman’s lips, and Frigga wonders at the familiarity of it. “I am a Valkyrie for Lady Hela.  As Evelyn Rosalie Potter is Lady Hela’s Avatar, I am well within my rights to check on her wellbeing. Besides,” Here the woman’s expression softens into fond longing as she looks back to the sleeping pair, “I wanted to be able to see her one last time before I continued on my way.” She sighs, feathers shifting silently when she turns her back to the bed. “As to how I managed to get in here without waking your son, well…” Frigga is now graced with a smirk she normally only sees on Loki, yet does not look misplaced on this unknown woman. “We Queens do have to have our own little secrets, do we not?”

“You are Royal?”

“By blood and by marriage.  Not that it truly matters either way.”

“And I suppose you will not give me your name?”

“I will not.  Not yet.”

Frigga exhales sharply, instinctively knowing no matter how hard she presses, she will get no further answers.  For now, she’ll just have to make due with the knowledge that, as the woman claims to be a Valkyrie for Hela, she can hardly expect her to be a threat to Evelyn and Loki. “You knew Evelyn was here,” she states plainly instead, although the look she gives demands an answer.

The Valkyrie just snorts, entirely unfazed by the silent demand. “Healers do tend to make the worst sort of patients, and Lady Potter had a rather strong disdain for staying in a Healing Hall long before she trained to be a Healer herself.  She went to the one person she feels safest with.”

Now it’s Frigga’s turn to sigh, although hers is filled with exasperation.  Somehow, she imagines that this will be an ongoing battle for a good many years that she is going to fight her future daughter over.

The Valkyrie laughs softly. “I wish you all the luck of the Realms on that front.  You are going to need it.”

“I survived raising a Jotun son with all of Asgard unawares,” she retorts. “A stubborn daughter will be nothing new to me.”

The Valkyrie openly grins at her. “Perhaps, but you’ve no experience currently with a member of House Potter.  Hela likes to bemoan that they are a force unto themselves.”

Frigga hums in the back of her throat. “We shall see.”  They stand in silence for a moment before she inquires, “You mentioned wanting to see my future daughter one last time before continuing on.”

This sobers up the Valkyrie rather quickly. “Yes, I did.” Her shoulders rise and fall as she draws in a deep breath before releasing it. “I have now witnessed the new beginning.  Therefore, so too shall I witness the new end.” A bittersweet smile graces her face. “It is something I alone must face, as I have no daughters yet to call my own. However, even if I did have them, this is not something I would let them experience.”

This, of course, immediately puts Frigga on edge. “What end do you speak of?”

The bittersweet expression remains. “I cannot say.  Just know this. I will be beside Evelyn Rosalie Potter every step of the way when the time comes.” With that rather mysterious and frankly alarming parting shot, the Valkyrie inclines her head before disappearing back into the shadows.

Frigga remains standing where she is for a long moment, just soaking in the sight of her two children safe.  Only once her heart has calmed somewhat does she too leave to find Eir and inform her that Evelyn had been found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments always make me happy!


	12. Mischief of a Marauder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Welcome to the Realm Eternal, welcome to Asgard.”
> 
> Sirius blinks, letting that knowledge roll around in his head for a moment before blinking again. “What?”
> 
> The man smirks. “We never did introduce ourselves.” He offers his hand again and Sirius automatically takes it. “I am Loki Odinson, Prince of Asgard.  My oaf of a brother over there is Thor Odinson, Crown Prince of Asgard.”
> 
> Sirius stares at him for a long second. “What?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel I should inform people not to always expect this quick of a turn around for chapters.  I just had a bunch of this already written from earlier drafts, so it wasn’t much work to edit it to fit what the story is now.  Regardless, enjoy!

Sirius Black is having a rather bad day, and _that_ is saying something.

Now, his normal days aren’t anything to brag about.  They usually consist of plotting ways to murder Wormtail should he ever get free, cursing himself for his stupidity at abandoning his goddaughter in her time of need, and mourning in what little ways he can the loss of the only true family he’s ever known.  The dementors don’t help any, what with their sucking away every decent memory he _has_ , thus leaving him to live with only the worst of them.  Still, he survives because he knows he’s innocent, not that that’s a particularly happy thought right now.

But about why today is one of the actual bad days.

Just yesterday, the Aurors currently stationed here had started talking about the news taking their world by storm.  His Evelyn, the beloved Girl-Who-Lived, has gone missing. Not only had Dumbledore apparently left her with bloody Petunia(who Sirius knows Lily would _never_ leave her child with, even if something prevented both him and Alice from taking custody of Evelyn, which did end up happening), but now, a month before her eleventh birthday, she’s blown up the staircase in their home before disappearing into thin air along with her cousin.  No one has any idea where they’ve gone to, and rumors are flying left and right about where that somewhere might be.

All Sirius is able to do is just sit and plan out how he’s going to murder Petunia alongside Wormtail, because Merlin and Morgana, it’s the scandal of the year!  The Girl-Who-Lived kept in a cupboard underneath a Muggle staircase! Sirius had a very vivid dream last night of tearing out Petunia’s throat. It was highly satisfying.

So when the shouting starts, he doesn’t pay it much heed.  The other inmates shout all the time, even if said shouts sound slightly more hysterical than usual if one actually pauses to consider them(and no one _does_ ).

It’s when the lightning and thunder begin as it _pours_ that he starts truly paying attention.  The weather at Azkaban is horrible to begin with but _this_ , this is quickly bordering on ridiculous.  Shortly after the storm whips itself into a frenzy, people start screaming.  There’s enough static in the air that he accidentally shocks himself by touching the metal door to his cell.  Then the screams go abruptly silent, leaving behind only the sound of the wind whistling through the stone hallways.  Everything about the situation has set his teeth on edge, so when his prison door explodes inwards, he feels well within his rights to let out a startled high-pitched squeak of fright.

“Brother, do calm down before you kill the man with a heart attack,” an unknown male voice drawls. “Should that happen, I will be informing Evelyn that it is _your_ fault her godfather died in prison.”

Sirius is scrambling to his feet the instant his goddaughter is mentioned. “Evelyn, you know where she is?” he demands hoarsely.  He freezes momentarily as emerald green eyes so like Lily and Evelyn settle onto him, but he steels himself. There’s no way he’s backing down now at this point.  Not with Evelyn on the line.

The green-eyed man raises an eyebrow, but answers his question. “Should she be where she promised, then in the gardens with my mother getting a lesson.”

A head of golden hair peeks around the edge of the doorway. “Yes, and Mother won’t be able to keep her occupied for long, so we should leave while there is still time,” the new man cautions.

He might’ve been in Azkaban for a while, but that hasn’t made Sirius stupid.  If anything, it’s made him _less_ stupid, because he isn’t going to go charging off at the first opportunity anymore. “You’ll take me to her?  You’d swear to do that?”

If he’s not mistaken, a glimmer of approval flashes through green eyes. “I swear to you that I will bring you to Evelyn Rosalise Potter, and may my magic forsake me if I lead you astray.”

Well, he’ll take that, given that he’s not really in any sort of position to make any further demands. “So mote it be.”  It’s a peculiar feeling, feeling the magic bound oath settle into place after over tens years of not really using his own magic beyond shifting to and from Padfoot to avoid the dementors.

“Right then, can you walk unaided?”

It takes a moment for the question to register, and even longer before Sirius realizes it’s directed towards him. “Can I what?”

“Can you walk unaided?” the man repeats. “I will have my brother carry you if we must, but we are leaving with you now, one way or another.”

Even battered and drained as he is, Sirius still has his pride.  He’s always vowed that when he leaves this prison, it’ll be under his own power. “I’ll bloody well walk myself out, thanks.”

“Very well then.” His rescuer jerks his head towards the outside while taking a step backwards to clear the doorway. “Whenever you’re ready.”

It’s that statement that makes the enormity of the situation hit him like a Bludger to the head.  He actually leaving Azkaban. Really, truly leaving. Mercifully, neither man says a word as Sirius draws in a startled gasp of breath.  They just patiently wait for him to sort himself out. It takes a few deep breaths, but he finally feels steady enough to go. The high of taking that first step out of his cell feels like he’s freefalling through the clouds on his broom.

Of course, then he has to go and remember the dementors.  Or, rather, the lack of them. He’s cold, because he’s on a gods forsaken rock in the middle of the ocean, but not dementor cold.  A look down the hall tells him why. There’s a falcon patronus hovering in midair, beating its wings furiously at the dementors gathered at the end of the hallway.

“Who’s—”

“That would be mine,” the green eyed man states with fondness.  He holds out an arm, and as if it were a real falcon, the patronus banks back and lands on the offered perch.  Sirius swears to himself that it almost looks solid enough to touch, but he’s never heard of a patronus doing that before. “I had a rather good teacher and some excellent memories to draw from.”

This, for some reason, makes the blond man gag. “There are some things, brother, I am much better off not knowing, and that is one of them.”

A rather sly smile spreads across the other man’s lips. “I’ll have you know, I have no need to draw from _those_ particular memories.  Our wedding day is more than enough.” The blond huffs, but makes no further comment. “Shall we?”

After eyeing the dementors one last time, Sirius agrees. “Yeah, let’s go.”

The green eyed man starts off towards the exit, and Sirius falls into step behind him with the blond taking up the rear.  It’s only when they pass another cell that Sirius realizes all the other inmates are silent. No one is making a sound as they pass by.

“Well, that’s just bloody creepy,” he mutters to himself.

A “Hm?” is tossed back at him.

“They’re all quiet,” he points out. “It’s never this quiet.”

“Ah, that would be my fault,” the green eyed man states blandly. “Their shouting was annoying me, so I silenced them.  Also, there’s no need for you to worry about any of them telling anyone who helped you escape. None of them will remember this little portion of time once we’re gone from here.”

Sirius can’t help gaping at the man’s back.  The amount of power and precision necessary to accomplish all that is staggering.

“My brother is rather accomplished in the magic of mind arts,” the blond man says softly from behind.  Sirius twists his head to see him looking towards his brother with a solemn expression. “It is the result of having been under someone’s control and forced to do things he still regrets to this day.  Have no fear, Sirius Black, for if my brother says he will do something, then it will be done.”

“Hadn’t thought that far ahead, actually,” he returns hoarsely.

The blond’s expression morphs into sad understanding. “No, I don’t suppose you would have.  Just as well that we have my brother for that.”

“Yes, I do tend to think further ahead than you,” the other man drawls, stopping just short of the doorway outside where the storm still rages. “Brother, if you would be so kind?” While Sirius doesn’t understand what’s being asked, the blond does, as he proceeds to step out into the storm and raise his hand.  There’s a flash of lightning followed by a booming clap of thunder, and then silence. “Quickly now.” Sirius’ arm is grabbed and he’s steered out onto the bare rock.

“Heimdell, we’re ready!” the blond calls out.

The green eyed man plants himself and Sirius right by his brother before he warns, “I would suggest bracing yourself.”

“Brace my—?” The world around him dissolves into a dizzying display of rainbow colors as he feels like he goes hurling into the air.  How long it lasts, he’s never able to say. When his feet hit solid ground again, his legs buckle out from underhead him. “Bloody hell, what _was_ that?” he groans, pressing his face into the cool metal he’s lying on.  He squeezes his eyes shut while attempting to settle his rolling stomach.

“The Bifrost can be a bit tricky when one isn’t used to it.”

“The Bi-what?”

“Open your eyes, Sirius Black, and look.”

Suppressing another groan, Sirius lifts his head and is suddenly quite thankful he’s already on the ground.  Before him is a rainbow bridge that stretches out across a vast rolling sea while in the distance there’s a majestic golden city filled with towers reaching for the sky.  A hand enters his line of sight and he’s helped to his feet by the green eyed man.

“Welcome to the Realm Eternal, welcome to Asgard.”

Sirius blinks, letting that knowledge roll around in his head for a moment before blinking again. “What?”

The man smirks. “We never did introduce ourselves.” He offers his hand again and Sirius automatically takes it. “I am Loki Odinson, Prince of Asgard.  My oaf of a brother over there is Thor Odinson, Crown Prince of Asgard.”

Sirius stares at him for a long second. “ _What_?”

“I told you we should’ve introduced ourselves before now,” Thor grumbles.

Loki waves away Thor’s comment. “We’d’ve never left Azkaban in a timely manner had we done that, and you were correct in stating that Mother can keep Evelyn occupied for only so long.  I still intend for this to be a surprise for her, which will be ruined should she come looking for us.”

“This isn’t some sort of joke?” Sirius chokes out.

Loki fixes him with a solemn look. “Whether you believe me or not is for you to decide, but I swore to you that I’d take you to Evelyn.  As my magic has not let left me, you ought to know that I still intend to do just that. Thor,” He looks to his brother, “go ready the horses.”

Thor raises an eyebrow, but inclines his head. “As you wish.”

“Now, there are two things I will have you do before I take you to your goddaughter, and that is simply so you don’t scare her.  A bath to begin washing Azkaban away, and a quick meal. After that, my word that I will take you to her.”

Seeing as he has no desire to scare Evelyn the first time that he sees her since James and Lily died, and he’d really rather not be filthy anymore, Sirius agrees.

 

* * *

****

After a hot bath that feels heavenly, new clothes, and a simple yet hearty meal, Loki leads Sirius into a series of gardens.  They remind him of the ones his mum(Dorea Potter, not that bitch Walburga) kept at the manor. It makes him homesick for a family he’s never getting back.  However, he shoves such thoughts to the side. He’s getting his pup back. That’ll have to be enough for now.

“They’re just over there,” Loki murmurs, peering around the pillar he stopped at. “If you’ll wait here a moment, I’ll go fetch her.”

Sirius inhales shakily and manages to jerk out a nod.

Loki gives him a knowing look before slipping out of side.

“Loki!” Evelyn’s voice is familiar enough that Sirius staggers sideways at the sound of it.  He has to brace himself against the pillar to stay upright. “Come see what Frigga’s been teaching us!”

“I’m sure, whatever it is, you’re magnificent at it, darling, but I have a present for you first.” Loki says.  For some reason, the tone of voice that Loki uses makes his godfather senses tingle. Why, he doesn’t know, but they do, so he resolves to pay close attention to how those two interact.  He did promise James that he’d look out for his baby girl, and he’s not about to mess that up a second time.

“A present?” The lilt of her question is all Lily, but Sirius just bets she tilts her head like James.  The image conjured makes his heart ache for all that he’s eager to actually see it. “Loki, I don’t need—”

Loki cuts her off. “It’s not something I have any intention of returning, so you’re just going to have to make due.”

“Prat.  So where is this present?”

“Right around the pillar over there.”

Sirius knows he said he’d wait for Loki to bring Evelyn to him, but he suddenly finds he can’t wait a second longer.  So he steps out from behind the pillar and into the sunlight. The sight of her stops him dead in his tracks.

Lily’s red hair glows in the sunlight, framing emerald green eyes on James’ face.  She’s wearing clothing similar to what Sirius has seen other people wearing, only much more intricately designed, which makes sense given that she’s staying with the bloody Royal Family.  Behind her are two other people, one boy around her age that Sirius reckons is her cousin, and a woman who can only be Loki and Thor’s mother. Both have remained seated while Evelyn is walking next to Loki, looking up at him with an expression of love and exasperation Sirius saw many a time on Lily directed towards James.  However, when he moves into her line of sight, she herself stops.

“Loki?” Her voice goes ridiculously high as she stares at him in obvious disbelief.  Disbelief of what, Sirius couldn’t say.

“Surprise,” Loki says a touch dryly. “Do you like it?”

She raises a trembling hand to her mouth. “You—you broke—”

“Hi Evie.” Sirius gives her the best smile he can manage. “I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m—”

“Sirius!”

She flings herself at him, sobbing for some reason.  Sirius scrambles to catch her, but they end up dropping to the ground.  It’s then that their skin finally touches and some form of magic flares up from Evelyn to envelope him.  His grip on her tightens instinctively, but he’s gasping for breath as he vividly remembers the green light that Bellatrix shot at him.  He hadn’t dodged, and he recalls Evelyn’s blood splattered face staring at him as the rest of the world faded away. Now he’s on his knees with her in his arms, only she looks like she’s eight when she’s supposed to be nearly sixteen.  Also, her hair was _black_ last he checked, not the red she’d had as a baby.

Then Evelyn yanks herself back and looks up at him with wide eyes. “Oh my god,” she breathes. “Oh my—Sirius?”

“You’re supposed to be fifteen,” is what he stupidly says as opposed to the myriad of questions now whirling around in his head.  Like why the hell he’s seeing her again when he’s very certain he just got himself killed by his insane cousin. If she got herself killed trying to avenge him, they are going to have to have a rather unpleasant talk in just a bit.  After he figures out just what the hell is going on.

“Alskling, what did you just _do_?” Loki’s voice reminds him that they’re not alone.  Sirius jerks his gaze up to see the man standing over them, concern and worry spread across his face.

“The Soul Magic, it just—I think it just gave Sirius his memories back,” she says, appearing absolutely dumbfounded.

“What memories?” Sirius parrots back, even more confused now.

“I thought he’d been dead for twenty four years.”

Evelyn huffs. “Yeah, well Thor had been dead for three and he still remembered.”

“Yes, but he was near me when my soul returned,” Loki counters in this insane argument they’re having. “Sirius Black was nowhere near either of us.”

Evelyn twists in Sirius’ arms to glare up at the man. “You think I have any why it did this?   _You’re_ the one who suggested we use it in the first place!  If anything, it’s _your_ fault all this weird shit keeps happening!”

Loki merely raises an eyebrow. “And yet, it is inevitably Potter Luck that truly is the reason things don’t go quite the way I planned.”

“You had better not be planning on using my bloody luck as blame for everything that goes sideways in our marriage, Odinson,” Evelyn snaps back.

“Whoa, you are too young to be talking about marriage!” Sirius protests, yanking her back against his chest.

“Sirius,” Evelyn says softly, “I lived for twenty four years after you died.” She gently but firmly pushes herself away and gets to her feet.  For some reason, she takes a simple pendant out of her pocket and fastens it around her neck. Sirius’ jaw drops when she shimmers, and her eightish year old body morphs into that of a full grown woman. “I grew up, Padfoot.  I grew up and had a life and got married.”

“And Voldemort?”

Evelyn smirks, practically brimming with confidence. “Him I dealt with three years after that debadical in the Department of Mysteries.  You are looking at Lady Evelyn Rosalie of House Potter, House Black, House Gryffindor, and House Slytherin, the Girl-Who-Lived, the Woman-Who-Conquered, the Savior and Chosen One of the Wizarding World.” She pulls a face. “Stars that’s _still_ a fucking mouthful.”

“You forgot Mistress of Death,” Loki points out blandly, but that just makes Sirius’ heart lurch dangerously in his chest, “as your Wizarding World likes to call being Hela’s Avatar.”

“You have the Hallows?”

Evelyn shakes her head. “I did, but not anymore for all that they still apparently answer solely to me.” She kneels back down in front of him and takes one of his hands in hers. “Sirius, it’s _1991_ again.  I’m due to start my first year at Hogwarts in two months.”

“That’s not possible,” he retorts flatly.  He knows about the Time Turners, but there’s no actual way to do what Evelyn is suggesting happened.

She smiles sadly at him. “It is because we used Soul Magic to send my soul back in time.  There was nothing left, Padfoot. Nothing left but dust and ruin and war.” She bows her head, but not before Sirius sees the tears welling up in her eyes. “I was dying and Loki refused to accept that.  So he gave me everything he had left and I woke up four nights ago back under the stairs on Privet Drive.”

“There was _another_ war?” Sirius feels rather indignant that his goddaughter somehow got dragged into another war so soon after the last one apparently ended, and he doesn’t doubt that it was probably for a similarly stupid reason like blood purity.

“Not a wizard’s war,” Loki corrects his unspoken assumption instead of Evelyn. “A war that encompased all the Nine Realms.  It started when the Realms were thrown out of alignment and everything descended into chaos after that. Evelyn and I, we attempted to fix it, but I fear we were already too late when Svartalfheim collapsed in on itself.  We fought to save those we could, but in the end we were the last two remaining from our group. I used Soul Magic because we had nothing left to lose.” He kneels as well to be able to wrap an arm around Evelyn’s shoulders. “It was a surprise that Thor and Dudley remembered, but I assumed it was because they were near us when the Soul Magic returned us.  I honestly hadn’t expected anyone else to be able to.”

One of Evelyn’s hands darts out to grab ahold of Loki. “Thor, Dudley, and Sirius were three people I considered family, and you sent me back so that I could _save_ my family.” She lifts her head and looks at Loki with wide, tear filled eyes. “Do you think—” She chokes on a sob, unable to finish her sentence.

“Perhaps, love, perhaps,” Loki murmurs, gathering her up into his arms with such tenderness that Sirius honestly feels like he’s intruding on a private moment. “We won’t know until we try, unfortunately, but it just might work.”

“Remus, then,” she states firmly through her tears. “I want Remus if only so that I can chew the bastard out about Teddy and Tonks.”

Loki drops a kiss to the top of her head. “As you wish, alskling.”

“Don’t tell me that wolf finally got off his arse and talked to my cousin,” Sirius interjects in an effort to lighten the mood.

Evelyn barks out a watery laugh. “Talked to her, married her, and even had a kid, for all that I had to yell at him when he got scared about impending fatherhood.  Theodore Remus Lupin was the cutest baby I ever laid eyes on. The bastard made me godmother though, which turned out to be a good thing since both he and Tonks got themselves killed at the last battle before I offed Voldemort.” She scrubs away her tears before smiling weakly at him. “I raised him from infancy as my own.  He always knew he wasn’t mine by blood, but I told him stories of the Marauders and of the Order of the Phoenix, so he knew his father and he knew that his parents died so that he could have a better life.” Her smile becomes bittersweet. “And mercifully, I was fully able to relate to him when there were the inevitable tantrums about the anger and the pain and the unfairness of it all, which usually sent Draco running for cover.”

Sirius’ lips pull back in a sneer of disgust. “You raised Moony’s kid with _Malfoy_?”

Evelyn, of all things, bares her teeth right back at him. “No, I raised _my_ child with Draco Regulus Black.  He taught us about Pureblood customs and I taught them how to survive and enjoy the Muggle World.  You don’t get to judge who I raised my child with and how we did it because both you and Moony fucking _died_ !  You died and left me alone again, so I did what I had to do to keep myself sane!  And since that ended up being raising Teddy together with Draco, _I bloody well did just that_!”

“Enough.” Loki’s mother finally stands, and Sirius abruptly remembers that for Loki to be a prince, that means his mother is a fucking _Queen_. “Sweetling, calm yourself,” she instructs while maneuvering Evelyn out of Loki’s arms and into her own. “You have only just recovered from being sick.  I will not have you relapsing from a fit of temper.” She fixes Sirius with a bland look that has him shrinking back, something only his mum and Professor McGonagall have ever successfully managed until now. “My son, should you wish for this man to remain in Asgard, I would suggest explaining that I will not tolerate disrespect of any sort towards my future daughter.” With that parting shot, the woman whisks Evelyn away, leaving Sirius alone with Loki and Evelyn’s cousin who he’s suddenly not so sure about.

“Well _that_ could’ve gone better,” the cousin sighs from where he’s still seated. “Did you honestly have to question her parenting?  You weren’t there, so you never saw the sacrifices both Eve and Draco made for that kid.”

“It’s _Malfoy,_ ” he mutters indignantly, like that’s all the excuse he needs.

“And yet, from what Eve told me, Draco was the one who spearheaded the campaign of equal rights for werewolves and their families in your world.   _He_ was the one who pushed through laws for just that purpose.   _He_ was the one who clued Eve into the fact that she could set up a foundation to supply all werewolves in Great Britain with some potion that apparently makes their transformation easier.  All for that kid you said he shouldn’t’ve helped raise.”

“And from what _I_ remember, my goddaughter wouldn’t give you the time of day, so what’s all this buddy buddy nonsense?” SIrius demands, because he still remembers Evelyn’s furious tears over explaining the dementor incident that landed her that ridiculous hearing at the Ministry.

The boy fixes him with an utterly flat look. “Like Eve said, we grew up.  For me, that meant getting my shit together and moving away from my parents and their frankly terrible opinions about my cousin and the world in general.  I got help and, with Eve, worked through our appalling childhood. We fixed our relationship, and while she swore to never set foot on Privet Drive ever again, I visited just once a year out of obligation.” He smiles grimly. “It was more to remind myself why exactly I’d left, seeing as they never changed.  I love them, they’re still my mum and dad, but that doesn’t mean I trust or like them. Eve accepted that, seeing as I never once tried to make her come along on those visits.

“And for your information, Black, Draco rejected all aspects of his Malfoy heritage after the war.  Hence the whole _Draco Regulus Black_ name thing.  He was Heir Black to Eve’s Lady Black.  As to why I know all this, cause I can see it in your face, who do you think helped Eve introduce Teddy and Draco to my world?” He stands, brushing dirt off his pants. “I’d suggest some serious soul searching if you don’t want to offend Eve every time you open your bloody mouth.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments always make me happy!


End file.
